


Something Worth Living For

by letthesongtakeflight



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3x07 Fix It, Angst, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Clexa, Especially not gays, F/F, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Power Couple, Protective Lexa, no one dies, now with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 56,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6200017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letthesongtakeflight/pseuds/letthesongtakeflight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa walked into the room just as the next shot rang out. Clarke stopped. Stumbled. And collapsed into Lexa’s arms.</p><p>The AU where Clarke gets shot, and Lexa is protective. Instead of surviving they learn to live, and save the world while they're at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of surprised that "Clarke gets shot instead of Lexa" hasn't been done yet, since it was the first fix it idea that came to my mind. I also have a thing for half of my ship angsting over the other one's injuries.

At the sight of the gun in Titus’s hands, the warm afterglow of satisfying sex turned to ice in Clarke’s veins. She instinctively lifted her hands. It was deeply instilled in her that that was what she should do when she was on the business end of a gun. That was how she could stop him from shooting. If such rules weren’t exclusively Skaikru’s; she wasn’t sure anymore. “Titus? What is this about?” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Moments ago she had been in elation, in Lexa’s bed, Lexa’s lips on hers… that was like a dream, and it was over.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Clarke,” Titus said in response to her question. His voice was devoid of emotion and it sent chills down Clarke’s spine. “Truly I am."

“I’m leaving.” She was grasping frantically at straws, she knew. At anything to stop Titus from shooting her, not when she had so much to live for. “Right now,” she added for emphasis. “Octavia’s waiting for me. Just let me take Murphy” – she briefly met the gaze of the boy bound and gagged in her room – “and we’ll go."

“I wish I could.” For a moment Clarke thought there was a hint of remorse in Titus’s voice. But then he lifted the gun and pointed it at her head, and Clarke’s hopes sank. “But Lexa will never execute her duty while you live.” It was true, she knew that, Lexa had already put her people, the peace she had fought so long for, at stake for the sake of Skaikru. And she knew that she couldn’t fault Titus for resorting to this measure to protect his people, not when she might have done the same were she in his place.

But she was damned if she would just stand there and let him shoot her, so she made a last, desperate bid. To Titus’s loyalty and his respect for Lexa. “Hey, Titus, think – she’s gonna know it was you."

“She’ll think it was _him_ ,” Titus said, gesturing to Murphy, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty. “Skaikru weapon in the hands of a Skaikru thief.” He handled the gun awkwardly, an alien object in hands used to spears and daggers. “She might even be angry enough to declare war!” Titus squeezed down on the trigger of the gun, his hand shaking with emotion. Clarke dived to one side but his aim was off, clearly unfamiliar with the Skaikru weapon, and the bullet clanged off the metal screen behind her.  He fired again, and if Clarke hadn’t ducked in time it would have been her skull instead of the clay jar behind her that shattered. Blood was rushing in Clarke’s ears, beating like a war-drum. She grabbed whatever she could reach, a chair, and flung it at Titus, stopping him for a moment and in that moment she could get away, could run to the door and – 

Lexa walked into the room just as the next shot rang out. Clarke stopped. Stumbled. And collapsed into Lexa’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to shout about Clexa and other related and/or unrelated fandoms, come find me at katebishopofearth.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: Chapter has been edited, with major changes in the ending.

Lexa stepped into the room in time to see the red flower blossom in the centre of Clarke’s stomach. There was a beauty in red blood, Lexa involuntarily thought, a purity in the color that she, a _natblida_ , never could have. Then she looked up to Clarke’s shocked face. Green eyes met blue ones, and that moment stretched out, thin, like wax before it drips – 

And snapped. Time rushed by doubly fast and Lexa only just managed to catch Clarke as she fell. “Clarke!” She wasn’t aware that she screamed until she heard her own voice, panicked and pitched like a girl’s and not like Heda’s, because all she was then was a girl, a girl of no more than twenty watching the girl she loved bleed out in her arms. She was lightheaded, her lungs wouldn’t draw breath. All she could see was the ragged hole in Clarke’s abdomen, her own slender fingers pressed desperately against it, the blood that was spilling everywhere. It was no longer beautiful, no longer pure. It was staining, cloying, escaping the veins it was supposed to stay in, the body it was supposed to keep alive. She looked up at Titus with venom in narrowed eyes. “What have you done?” she snarled. “Guards!” She raised her voice. A moment later a pair of guards rushed in, spears at the ready. “Arrest him!” She pointed an accusing, blood-stained finger at Titus. The two warriors exchanged a look but did not hesitate for longer than a few seconds, before clasping Titus’s hands behind his back and escorting him out of the chamber.

“Kylos!” Lexa called to one of the warriors by name. He left Titus to his comrade and was at Lexa’s side in a moment. “Help me get her to the bed.”  The warrior made a noise of assent and lifted Clarke. She hissed with pain and Lexa’s heart squeezed as painfully as though the bullet was in her chest. Kylos laid Clarke on Lexa’s bed, the bed where they had made love not fifteen minutes before. The thought made Lexa sick, that Clarke was bleeding out, _dying_ on the same bed. 

“Get a healer,” Lexa ordered Kylos with urgency. “One who’s dealt with injuries from Skaikru weapons before.” He bowed in response, and as he left the room she added, unable to keep the note of panic from her voice, “hurry!” Then she dropped to her knees beside the bed so that she was face-to-face with Clarke. The blonde’s eyes were fluttering as though she was fighting to keep them open, and Lexa took a hand off her stomach – how she hated the blood on her hand – to cup her face. “Clarke, no, look at me. Stay with me, Clarke, help is coming. 

Clarke swallowed and Lexa’s heart clenched at the sight of the trickle of red blood at the corner of her mouth. “I… Lexa…"

“Shh, don’t talk.” It was sick, the echoing of their earlier words, on the same bed, under such different circumstances. “You’ll be okay, I promise, Clarke. Help is coming, Just stay with me, a few more minutes and the healer will be here."

Clarke ignored her warning, the stubborn girl. Her brows knitted further down her forehead as she fought with the pain. “Lexa, my people…"

“I’ll keep them safe,” Lexa promised, words falling from her lips, useless as the tears that fell unbidden from her eyes. _Please keep her safe_ , she pleaded, though to who she did not know. _Please, take me in her place. I would give anything to trade places with her._  Out loud she said, “ _We’ll_ keep them safe. Together.” 

Clarke shook her head. “You are Heda first. Your duty… is to _your_ people. Not mine."

“Your people are my people, Clarke. I swore to you,” Lexa reminded her. “That and much more."

Clarke’s hand reached for the one Lexa had laid on her cheek and Lexa laced their fingers together, clutching Clarke’s alarmingly cold hand as tight as she could, as though she could physically stop Clarke’s spirit from leaving her body. “I release you from your vow.” Lexa’s heart fell. “There’s no reason… for you to protect my people, when I’m –"

“Do _not_ say that!” Lexa demanded more fiercely than she intended.

Clarke managed a weak smile. “You’re the one who’s always talking about your death."

Lexa wanted to say that that was different, that she was expendable, that she was simply Heda, that her spirit would pass on to the next Commander and nothing would change in the big picture. But Clarke was special, there would never be another Clarke, another woman with the same stubbornness and defiance and loyalty and courage, nor burn with a flame that matched Lexa’s own. But she simply shook her head, her tears falling into their joined hands.

“Lexa.” Clarke’s insistent voice brought her head up to meet her gaze, surprising her with the intensity and lucidity in her blue eyes “Lexa, I lo–"

“Heda.” Kylos reentered the chamber, and Clarke’s sentence went unfinished. Disappointment and relief battled in Lexa’s heart, and the latter won. After all, nothing else mattered, as long as Clarke lived. Kylos was followed by Dala, one of the most experienced healers in Polis, and her apprentice. Lexa’s Heda mask slipped back into place, almost seamlessly but for the cracks that betrayed her worry and the gripping fear that Clarke would die. She pressed her lips against Clarke’s hand and rose, ready to become Heda – but she thought what if, what if this was the last time she would see her alive, the woman she loved, the mate to her soul – and she kissed Clarke on the lips. “You’ll be okay soon. Be strong, _ai gona_ ,” she whispered, before she reluctantly left her side. She had to forcefully unlock her fingers from around Clarke’s. 

Lexa was every inch the Commander when she turned around to face Dala. “Save her,” she said to the healder, cold fire in her voice. “Wanheda must live." 

“I’ll do my best, Heda,” the healer promised. 

“Do better, Dala.” The threat was clear in Lexa’s voice, for it was the only way she could keep it from trembling. She left the room to get out of the way of the healers, waiting for them in the outer chamber. She surveyed the signs of a fight in the room – the knocked over candles, the pieces of a wooden chair, shards of a jar, displaced furniture. And the sign that the fight ended – the blood on the thick rug, _so much of it_ , that the smell of rust and death masked even the soft scent of the candles. The rug would have to go, the thought rose involuntarily to the front of her mind and she let out half a hysteric giggle at how mundane that was. 

The blood, Clarke’s blood, half-dried in congealed pools of burgundy, was stained too deep in the rug to ever wash out. And what of these? She thought as she beheld her hands, stained the same color. No one could ever mistake that blood for hers; only the blood of innocents could be red. Would her hands ever be washed clean of it? Would Clarke’s blood be stained forever on her hands, and in her soul? 

She let out a half-sob and, trembling, sunk to her knees, her legs unable to stand any longer. She didn’t have to take off her Heda persona, it fell from her like shattered pieces of armor too broken to be held together. In that moment she was not Heda, not the Commander, but simply a lover, part of a whole, her other half fighting to stay alive. A broken half who could never be complete without the other. Her fingers interlaced in her lap and she prayed again, _Please._   _Let Clarke live. I’ll do anything._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed some stuff at the end of the last chapter, so go and read that if you haven't yet.

Her Clarke had always been so headstrong, so adament, so loud in making her voice heard, that now, lying unconscious amidst the furs on Lexa's bed, she looked impossibly tiny and fragile. She would live, Dala had said, as long as the wound was allowed to heal and did not start bleeding anew. Lexa had let out a sigh of relief and thanked the stars and the spirits of the commanders before her for letting Clarke remain with her.

The blonde’s shirt had been cut away, and she was covered by a rich patchwork quilt that had been on the couch before. Her shoulders peeking above it were bare, and Lexa drew the quilt up to cover the exposed skin. Despite lying on top of thick furs and covered by the heavy quilt, her skin was cold and clammy to the touch. Lexa clasped a limp hand in her own. The girl on the bed was too pale, too still; and only the slow, shallow rise and fall of her chest and the softness of her hands, which showed that death-grip had not gotten ahold of her, were the only signs that her spirit still resided in her body.

Guilt gnawed at Lexa, twisting her innards with a merciless keenness. She knew that this was not her fault, she could not have predicted what Titus would have done. But at the same time she was to blame; she alone heard Titus's counsel, knew the extent of his loyalty to Trikru and to the ways of their people. She was the only one who could possibly have guessed what he would have done for the good of their people. She had been too caught up in other matters, among them the matters of her heart, and of balancing them against the needs of her people. Perhaps Titus was right after all, she realized with a crash of guilt that threatened to sweep her off her feet. Perhaps her judgement was clouded by how she felt towards Clarke. And perhaps – no, it was no longer a perhaps but an actuality, she realized with another pang of guilt as sharp as a blade – that misjudgment put both of them in danger.

Unbidden, Costia's face rose to the forefront of her mind. Her warm dark skin and unruly hair, her eyes which held a sparkle that rivaled the stars', her mouth that was either in a gentle smile, a wide beam, or opened in full-bellied laughter. When Lexa kissed her she could feel the upturned corners of those soft lips, the giggles that bubbled from deep in her throat. Costia's, whose soft hands always seemed too delicate for the roughness of a blade, whose perfect skin was unmarked by the scars Lexa's bore. Costia, who used her gentle hands to heal and nurture rather than to kill. Costia, who amidst the tempestuous winds of Lexa's turbulent, battle-ridden life was a steady oak, a glowing candle. Costia, who was punished for the crime of being Lexa's, who in her final hours met more pain and violence than she had ever dealt in her whole life. When they sent her head back to Lexa, those lips were no longer smiling, nor did her dark eyes hold the stars of the moonless sky. They were not even fearful, they were simply blank – wiped of all emotion and the joy and love that made them _her_.

Lexa closed her eyes against the prick of tears, trembling as she always did at the thought of her first love. Would Clarke be doomed to suffer the same fate? Was that Lexa's curse, the burden of being Heda? The path of a Commander was a lonely one, she knew, and she had been fortunate – or perhaps unfortunate – enough to find love not once but twice in her short life. Perhaps that meant that all whom she loved – and all who loved her – would pay the price on her behalf. She knew that she could not allow Clarke to suffer as Costia did, that she would give her life to stop that.

She cradled Clarke's cheek in her free hand and rested her forehead against the other girl's, taking both comfort and guilt from the barely-there breaths that fanned across her face, weak and shaky but so very _there_ , an unmistakable sign that Clarke was alive. "I'm so sorry," Lexa whispered. The fact that Clarke was unconscious somehow made the words come easier. "I should have protected you. I failed you, like I failed her...” She could not stop the tears now, and they dripped onto Clarke's cheeks and ran down them, as though they were hers instead of Lexa's. Her voice shook and lowered into a fierce growl. "I promise I won't let that happen again. You are _mine_ , Clarke kom Skaikru, and I swear, on my life, that I will keep you safe. I will die before I let any man or woman hurt you again because of me."

"There you go," came the reply in a raspy voice, "talking about your death again."

Lexa's breath caught in her throat, and she let it out shakily. Clarke was alive, tangible, her blue eyes open if only just a sliver. "Clarke," she breathed, the name reverent as a prayer. She couldn't keep the tremor out of her fingers as she framed the other girl's face with her hands and kissed her on the lips, a quick, gentle peck. She wasn’t conscious of her thoughts falling form her lips until she heard her own voice saying "You’re here, you’re safe.”  She drew back enough to take in that beloved face, took in the details of how her golden eyelashes caught the candlelight, the line of her nose, the dimple in her chin. Lexa was giddy with relief, her heart fluttering like a butterfly’s wings, not quite believing that this was real, that Clarke was awake and alive. "Do you need anything?"

Clarke swallowed, the furrow between her eyebrows deepening as though the simply motion pained her, and Lexa’s heart lurched in her chest. “Do you want water?” She reached for the cup on the nightstand and, her free hand helping Clarke sit up enough to drink it, pressed the rim of the cup to her chapped lips. Clarke took a few sips and whispered a “thanks", her voice noticeably less hoarse. Lexa lowered her back onto the pillows and she herself settled back into her chair. Her eyes darted to Clarke’s hand that lay on the bed before resting them on her face again. Clarke, though still half-dazed, caught onto the flicker of her gaze and unfurled her fingers. Lexa took the wordless invitation to envelope Clarke’s hand in hers once again. As their fingers fitted together, the world seemed to fall back into place a little more. The tightness around Lexa’s lungs, which she hadn’t even been aware of, disappeared and for the first time in so long, she had lost count of the hours, she could  _breathe_.

“Are you in pain?” She asked.

“‘M fine,” Clarke replied, although the crease in her brow spoke otherwise.

“I can have Dala bring you something for the pain if you want,” Lexa prompted.

Clarke shook her head, the movement adamant, if minute, as though she couldn’t find the strength to move more. “Just stay with me."

Those words made Lexa’s stomach tingle with pleasant warmness, bubbling up to form a small smile on her lips and to shine out of her eyes. She nodded, and squeezed Clarke’s hand. Clarke’s tightly-drawn expression softened slightly and the corners of her lips teased upwards so minutely that Lexa wondered if she was aware of doing it at all.

Lexa let herself get lost in Clarke’s eyes, those never-still eyes that hinted at the always-ticking mind behind them, so different from Lexa’s own unwavering gaze. But right now they were drifting close again, and Lexa kissed her forehead. “Rest,” she said in Trigedasleng. Clarke's breathing deepened as fell asleep again, and Lexa switched back to the tongue of the Sky People to make her promise, “I’ll be here when you wake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gosh you guys, thank you for reading and liking this fic! I can't believe this many people have read it and left kudos, it's honestly blowing my mind (boom).
> 
> I've taken certain artistic license with Grounder culture, like certain words they use instead of ours (like 'death-grip' for rigor mortis), and assumptions about their beliefs, because world-building is super important to me as a writer and I can't work otherwise.
> 
> I'll try to write some more but essay deadlines are coming up, so I'll update sometime after this weekend.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE TITLE CHANGE.  
> Formerly "Something To Live For"

Clarke’s hair was filthy, Lexa thought as she brushed her fingers through the matted strands. She ordered one of the handmaidens to bring her a basin of water, and she set to cleaning Clarke’s hair while the other girl slept. There was something comforting about the uniformity of the action – wetting her hair, rubbing soap into the tangled strands and greasy roots, washing off the grime. When she was done, Lexa sat back, put the basin of dirtied water by the wall, and sat back to admire her handiwork. Clarke’s hair was gleaming and golden, no longer knotted with dust and dirt, and was fanned out about her head like a halo.

Lexa began braiding the damp hair, at first more out of habit than anything else, as she always braided her hair after she washed it. She hated the feeling of wet hair cloying about her face, especially when she slept. She pulled Clarke’s hair into tiny braids to form a plaited crown. Working her fingers through the soft, now-clean strands, one braid after another, a calmness washed over Lexa. It was the feeling of floating on her back on the lake, on an early summer day, when a light breeze caressed her skin, and the water was pleasant in its coolness, and she could relax all her limbs, let the backs of her knees go slack, trust the water to carry her outstretched arms. It had been so long since she had found that feeling; not since her fragile Coalition tentatively held together on tenterhooks, not since the ship crashed from the sky and left aftershocks on the ground in its wake, not since all the lights in her world dimmed along with the stars in Costia’s eyes, not since her Ascension Day when she slaughtered seven of the people she grew up with, not since… not since...

Costia. Before she became Commander and understood the burden that came with leadership, when she was simply a _natblida_ , one of nine, before she learned to don armor around her heart. She had been free then, free to love who she wanted and to feel her heart so swollen with love it could burst. After Costia was killed, she thought she could never be at peace again, that the war she was constantly fighting – against the Ice Nation, against the Sky People, against the Mountain Men, against the disquietude amongst her own people – that the war would be her life. But then Clarke came along, and with her Lexa began to feel peace again.

The peace never lasted long; she was still Commander, with all the duties that entailed. But together, she had found moments of peace with Clarke. After her fight with Roan, when Clarke’s fingers, the fingers of Wanheda, dressed her split palm with care, how their eyes met and hinted at the words their lips couldn’t say. that early morning when they had talked in her rooms about their people and cultures, and she had been relaxed enough to fall asleep on the couch in Clarke’s presence. And then, finally, when they lay here on this bed after making love, Clarke’s fingers tracing the tattoo on her arm, then down her spine, Clarke’s lips on her shoulder – then, she had finally felt the sheer bliss and tranquility she never thought she would have again. These pockets of peace soothed her, reassured that all she fought for was worth something tangible, gave her the quiet strength she needed in the landscape of war and harshness and blood that had been her life since she became Commander.

She's found another pocket now, in the simplicity of golden curls between her fingers, forming a golden crown for the woman she loved. It was in the soft strands of hair, in the gentle light of candles in the waning day, in Clarke’s sleeping face, unguarded and young and innocent, free from the burdens she, too, carried for her people. And perhaps, thought Lexa, that was all it took for them to be happy – a moment without those burdens and duties resting on too-young shoulders, a moment of Clarke and Lexa, not Wanheda and the Commander.

Clarke stirred and turned to face Lexa. “What are you doing?” she mumbled.

Lexa couldn’t help smiling fondly at her complaining tone. “You’ll like it,” she said in reply, her eyes darting quickly to meet Clarke’s before returning to her task.

Clarke gave a huff. “Already do,” she admitted grudgingly and Lexa couldn’t help that her smile widened a little. She finished the last of the thin braids and secured it. “There,” she said, and finished by brushing out the unbraided sections. Clarke closed her eyes and gave a contented hum. “Told you you’d like it,” she said, lying down on her side next to Clarke, head propped up with one hand. Clarke was looking much more lucid now than the last time she awoke, Lexa noted with relief. The furrow of pain between her brows had faded to a barely noticeable crease. Her eyes were no longer dulled and disoriented by pain but warm and steady as a sunbeam as she met Lexa’s gaze. 

Clarke shifted to mirror Lexa’s pose and face her, her motions awkward because of her injury, and Lexa stopped her with a hand on Clarke's hip, her arm reaching across Clarke’s abdomen to secure her. “Don’t move, you’ll reopen the wound.” Clarke rolled her eyes at that but didn’t try to move anymore. “How do you feel?"

Clarke covered Lexa’s hand in her own, smoothing her thumb over the back of her hand, and Lexa’s heart skipped at the mundane yet familiar movement. “About how you’d feel if a little piece of metal was lodged in your body.”

Lexa involuntarily rubbed the scar at the back of her neck. “Sounds painful,” she said, keeping her voice even.

Clarke gave her that wry look she so loved. “Not fun,” she agreed. “But I’ll be fine. I feel a lot better already."

Of course she would, Clarke was one of the toughest, most resilient people Lexa knew, even if she couldn’t see it herself. “Good,” she said, trying – and failing – to keep the tremor out of her voice. Her green eyes wet and wavering as she said, “You… I almost lost you, Clarke.” Her voice almost broke as the tumultuous emotions that she had kept hidden even from herself for the past days came rising to the surface and in an intense rush she held Clarke tightly to her, burying her face in the crook of her neck. It was the first time she dared to put the truth into words. She had _thought_ it, how could she have not, in those long hours of waiting for news of Clarke’s condition while Dala operated over her, the lonely vigil she kept with the barest of signs that Clarke was alive, if unconscious. But she had never allowed herself to think those words, never given them voice, and now that she did, even though the danger was all but past...

Clarke held Lexa to her, a hand cradling the nape of her neck, a protective, steadying embrace. “Hey, hey” she murmured, her words brushing against Lexa’s skin like a soothing balm. “It’s okay, I’m here.” Lexa took a deep breath against Clarke, breathing in the scent of her skin and freshly washed hair, and pulled back, her emotions under check once more.

“Hey.” Clarke cupped her face, forcing her to not scoot away as she wanted to and look her in the eye, in those blue eyes that glimmered like the lake she used to float in. “You alright?” 

Lexa gave the barest of nods, her face a calm mask once more. She was instinctively embarrassed at her obvious display of emotions. Of weakness. That was what she had always been told, what she had learned was true, after all the deaths she had seen, after all those who had died because they cared for her and she cared for them in return. But she didn’t _want_ to be like that anymore. Clarke had changed that – this girl who fell from the sky with a shower of starlight and a cacophony of war-cries. This woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, who clashed her bare skin against the spears of Lexa’s warriors time and time again, who challenged whoever was in her way regardless of rank or strength until she got what she knew was right. This leader who would bear blood on her hands, death on her soul, and loss in her heart on behalf of her people. Lexa loved her, this woman of starlight and thick hide and a vast heart that cared too deeply even when she knew that caring was a weakness. That was what drew Lexa to her – the stubborn refusal to close off her heart. And even more, her determination slowly turned the key in Lexa’s own heart, urging it to open up. She had struggled to clamp down on the admiration and then adoration that at first trickled, and later flowed from her heart. She had long since admitted that the attempt was futile, but Clarke made her want to do more. She made her want to spring open her heart and give her all that was in it.

But she didn’t have the words to say all of this, was not even sure that it was possible to, so she met Clarke’s gaze and hoped that the look in her eyes was enough to convey a sliver of it. As it always was between them, looks spoke louder than words, their souls meeting and saying what words never could. Clarke told her that with a slight nod and pressed her lips against Lexa’s in an affirming kiss that the brunette was too hesitant, too shy to initiate, and she soaked up the feeling of Clarke’s lips moving against her own like she would sunlight on her skin. Her hand slid to Clarke’s waist, slipping beneath the thin material of her nightshirt to her soft skin and –

Clarke hissed with pain as Lexa brushed her hand across her bandaged midsection.

Lexa’s hands jolted away from her as though she was burnt. Her eyes were wide, her back and shoulders taut, limbs tensed to move off the bed.

Clarke pulled her shirt back down after giving the wound a quick inspection. She resumed her earlier pose on the pillows, relaxed. Her gaze sharpened, though, when she saw the tension that hummed in Lexa’s body like the air before a storm. “Hey,” she said gently, turning to lie on her side and face Lexa. She reached out and smoothed away the crease in Lexa’s forehead. 

Lexa slackened slightly to a normal posture, though the calmness she had known earlier had faded out of reach once more. Apologies were hard to come by with her, and harder to give voice to, so she said softly, the husky timbre of her voice revealing a depth of distress her words failed to touch, “I worry about you."

Clarke gave a small smile, her cheeks dimpling ever so slightly. She was on the verge of speaking, but then her forehead crinkled, and for a second Lexa thought she had strained her stitches again, but then she recognized the look in Clarke’s eyes, the realization that clicked in place like a key in a box. “Lexa,” Clarke said, intent, and the other girl’s heart still gave an involuntary skip at the sound of her name on her lips. “When Octavia left, did she know what happened?"

The realization was like a smack on Lexa's nose. It was only natural that Clarke wanted her people, her mother, to know what happened and that she was recovering well. Lexa had been so preoccupied with Clarke’s condition and other matters around the attempted assassination that she hadn’t even thought of sending word to Skaikru, she realized, shame searing her veins. “No. They don’t know,” answered the Commander, her expression betraying nothing.

“And Murphy?” The only other one of the Sky People who knew she had been shot. 

“Left Polis yesterday as soon as you were stable. I have offered to send riders escorting him to the blockade, but he refused my offer and left on his own." 

“He isn’t exactly popular in Arkadia,” Clarke said somewhat absently, her mind clearly somewhere else. “So no one in Arkadia knows what happened to me."

Lexa said, “I can send a rider –"

“No.” Clarke cut her off brusquely, blue eyes intense with a steady fire that had yet to flare up with temper.

Lexa's brow drew down slightly and she tilted her head in a question. “Do you not want them to know you’re better?"

Clarke shook her head. “As far as they know I stayed because I wanted to,” she said emphatically, and as their eyes met, one leader’s to another’s, Lexa understood. “If they find out that I was shot by a Grounder, intentions don’t matter, nothing can stop this war."

She truly was amazing, Lexa thought with a rush of adoration. “You would rather they think you stayed of your own choice,” she said softly, “than for them to demand vengeance on us."

Clarke nodded. “Besides,” she added as an afterthought, “the blockade is drawn by now, I can’t get past it.” A corner of her lips drew up in a half-smile. “The lines are drawn, and the choice has been made for me to be on this side of it.” It was ironic, really, Lexa thought with a wry twist of her own lips, that Titus, who wanted nothing more than for Clarke to leave, was the one who ensured she stayed. And Lexa, selfishly, was glad to have Clarke here with her and not on the other side of a battle-line, across the nigh insurmountable chasm of belligerence.

 

She didn’t realize that her Heda mask had slipped off and a smile had formed on her lips until Clarke’s expression mirrored her own. “Yeah, I know,” the blonde said somewhat reluctantly, though her eyes were warm. “Me too.” With that she cupped Lexa’s jaw and kissed her, firm and passionate. Lexa cradled Clarke’s face in her palm as she took her lips between hers again and again, and she reminded herself never to take this for granted, never to forget that either of them could be gone without a moment’s notice, killed by something as small as a piece of metal or as big as a war between their peoples.

They broke away, breathless, and curled against each other in the center of the bed. Clarke’s head nestled in the hollow between Lexa’s shoulder and neck, and Lexa’s chin rested on top of Clarke’s head, tucking the blonde against her body in an instinctively protective position. 

Titus could not go unpunished, Lexa decided with fierce determination. An assassination attempt on an ambassador from another clan was treason, punishable by death by a thousand cuts. An example must be made, especially when the newly-formed Coalition was held tenuously together and threatened to be fractured by the dissonant voices that echoed within it. No, Titus must be punished, and harshly rather than not, as far as Lexa was concerned. She would be lying if she said that she wasn’t ruling with her heart. If it had been anyone else Titus had harmed she would not be this severe in her punishment, this intent to see him dead. But an attack on Clarke was an attack on Lexa, and she would show no mercy to those who sought to harm those who belonged to her. Not anymore.

Because if she couldn’t protect what was hers, the peace she sought for meant nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long chapter, I know, but I couldn't find anyway to break it up. And besides, as cute as these two lovestruck idiots are cuddling and angsting, the plot needs to move on in next chapter. 
> 
> (Yes this fic has a plot now. Wut. How did this happen?)


	5. Chapter 5

If she had been anyone else, Lexa would have spent all her days with Clarke in her – _their_ – room, filling their moments with words and touches. But she wasn’t; she was still the Commander of the twelve clans and she had duties that she had neglected for too long. She had meetings to attend, Nightbloods to train, a blockade to enforce. And at the end of all those duties, one she set for herself – a trip to the prison.

Titus had been given a private cell, she saw. Prisoner as he was, his higher rank and influence over the guards gave him one of the roomier private cells, away from the draft and damp and separated from the common holding cells by walls rather than bars. He was waiting for her. He sat on the single, uncomfortable chair in the cell, hands on his knees, feet firm on the ground, knees slightly but deliberately apart. The stance of a remorseless man. Lexa stood with her chin high, shoulders pushed back, her hands clasped lightly behind her back. Her former fleimkappa met her eyes and she regarded him with dispassionate coldness.  “ _Gon we_ ,” she ordered the guards in a clipped tone, never releasing Titus from her unblinking gaze. The pair of guards left, and she was alone with Titus.

He looked much the same as he did the last time she saw him. A touch more haggard, perhaps, but the way he held himself and the steely eyes were still the same. Commander and Flamekeeper locked gazes, neither speaking, both waiting, _daring_ the other to speak first. The air between them was taut as a bowstring. Lexa tilted her chin upwards by a slight degree, gauging him, trying to find his cracks. Titus was proud and obstinate, and absolutely would not back down for doing what he still felt strongly to be right. But neither would she. 

“I anticipated that you would come, Lexa.” He broke the silence. “Though it’s later than I predicted.” The use of her name rather than her title and his self-importance poked at the embers of anger in her gut. She squared her jaw. 

“I almost didn’t come at all."

“But you need my counsel.”

“My need for your _counsel_ ” – the word was delivered with sarcasm – “ended when you shot an ambassador from another clan,” she said, her cool facade never giving hint as to the hot anger beneath. “It is treason. You don’t need me to remind you what the punishment is for that."

Surprised flashed across Titus’s face, a ripple across his confidence. “Would you do that, Lexa?” All that composure and self-assurance was gone, as his certainty in, if not the future, in his life, was disturbed for the first time.

He had been so certain that she wouldn’t kill him, Lexa thought, and her anger simmered closer to the surface. Her voice trembled, indignant. “You think I’m weak, don’t you? Don’t forget that I executed Gustus myself for much the same crime."

“You did what must be done –"

“And I will do it again.” In the gloom of the prison her eyes were hard as obsidian and almost as dark.

“Will you?” He hovered between curiosity and discomfit.

“I will do what justice demands."

“Justice? If _jus drein jus daun_ , if you take my life to answer for the Skaikru girl’s” – his eyes lit up with a frenzied triumph – "reason stands that you must retaliate against Skaikru for what they did to our people!"

“Justice,” Lexa echoed, her expression softening by a fraction. _Peace will be your legacy_. “It can mean peace.” Then her gaze focused back on Titus in his dank cell and her features hardened again, as she remembered where she was and whom with.

“Is this the Skaikru weakness I hear in you?” Titus demanded, incredulous. “You still heed her words over mine, even when she is gone and –"

“Clarke lives!” Lexa's declaration echoed around the small room. Titus’s face turned almost as pale as the white rims around his eyes, and Lexa felt a rush of savage pleasure at his shock.

He must have know then that if Clarke had lived, all he risked had been for nothing. Lexa could see the struggle of emotions in his eyes; he had never been good at guarding them, not in the way she was. She could see the despair threatening to drown out everything else in his eyes. "And so it is Clarke's counsel you heed these days?" His voice took on a mocking tone, but couldn't quite mask the tremor beneath. "The Commander of the twelve clans, heeding the advice of a Skaikru girl?"

“Whose advice I seek is no longer your concern."

“It is when you put our people in danger!” he snapped, his voice growing louder.

Lexa’s own anger flared to match his. “Everything I do, _is for our people!_ ” she snarled. 

“Then you know what must be done! Strike down Skaikru while – "

“ _Em pleni_!” Lexa halted him with a raised palm. She closed her eyes, forced down the fire inside her with a deep breath. When she spoke her voice was low and tight, roughened to barely more than a growl. “I grow tired of these games, Titus.” 

He, too, calmed, traces of his fervor disappearing. He resumed his earlier pose, resting his palms on his knees. “Why did you come, Heda?”

Lexa loosely linked her hands behind her back. She breathed, a single deep inhale and exhale through her nose that made her chest rise and fall.. “Mercy.” She let the single word hang in the air for a moment, like something tossed into the air and arcing up and suspending, for a seemingly endless moment, at the top of its arc –

And dropped. The air in the room felt heavier then, more pressing against both of them. “By rights I should have you executed for treason,” Lexa said, and the sound of her voice sliced through the thickness of the air like a sharp blade. “But I offer you a chance to live. Explain your actions to me – without insulting my ability to lead or Clarke’s person, if you prefer to live” – her eyes flashed with hidden menace – “and then I will decide your fate."

Titus nodded minutely, as though resigning himself to the idea. “Very well,” he said. “You may not like my reasons, but you will have the truth. Ever since Clarke came to Polis she has been clouding your judgement. You could have killed her and taken the power of Wanheda, and secured the respect and loyalty of the twelve clans. Skaikru repaid your offer of an alliance by slaughtering three hundred of our warriors, sent to _protect them_ , in cold blood. You should have destroyed them for that and avenged our fallen.  _Jus drein jus daun,_ Heda. That is the way of our people, ever since we have walked the earth, yet you go against it to protect Skaikru, time and time again, and all for a girl!” He paused to take a deep breath, and when he spoke again he was calmer. “Clarke had to go, not just her person but her influence over you, your attachment to her… I had to sever it, so that you can be Heda again, and Heda only."

Lexa listened to all this with her expression cast in an impassive mask. “I thank you for your honesty.” This was her only response before she turned and strode towards the door.

“Wait.”

She halted, but did not turn.

“Why did you spare my life?” She could hear the rawness in the question.

Her reply was cold as frost. “I haven’t decided to do that yet."

“But you’re considering it. Why?”

At this Lexa turned around fully to face Titus. “The pillars of being Commander. Under your instruction I’ve always strived for strength and wisdom," she said without guile, for the first time her mask slipping slightly. "Until now, I had forgotten compassion.” With that she turned and swept out of the prison, leaving a stunned Titus in her wake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait, I really struggled with how this should play out. Titus is a hard character to write, and it doesn't help that his reasons in canon for wanting to kill Clarke didn't make sense >.>  
> It's a tough chapter to write and I guess I'm happy with how it turned out. Let me know how I did in the comments?


	6. Chapter 6

The girl’s hands barely touched Clarke's skin as she changed the bandages around her torso. Clarke, sitting on the couch, watched her work, for once a patient herself rather than a healer. There was something strangely disconcerting about the role reversal. She could and had dealt with all kinds of horrific injuries, especially since coming to the ground, but something about the hole in her stomach made her queasy. “What’s your name?” she asked the girl in Trigedasleng, to distract herself.

“Shay,” came the answer in a clear treble. Dala’s apprentice was no more than twelve, maybe thirteen, but her fingers were nimble and steady, and she answered without looking up from where she cleaned Clarke’s abdomen with a damp cloth. Clarke wondered how long she had been doing this, how many injuries she had treated. How many deaths she had seen.

“How long have you been learning to be a healer?"

“Two winters."

“I was learning to be a healer, too,” Clarke said, a fond smile touching her lips at the memory. The days on the Ark seemed so far away now, when she trained under her mother in Medical, and she dreamed of being a doctor as good as Abby. Sneaking out of classes in the day while getting Wells to cover for her, and sneaking out of her family’s living unit at night to go the secret parties. That was all that was important back then, not matters of life and death, war and peace. She met Shay’s eyes, which were now turned onto her in innocent curiosity. “It was a long time ago."

Shay neatly folded up the cloth, which was now smeared with faint red streaks. Clarke tried not to think about that. “Why did you stop?” the apprentice asked.

Clarke thought of the three hundred Grounder warriors who burned alive outside the dropship. She thought of the two hundred people, both hers and Lexa’s, whom she left to their deaths when the missile struck Tondc. She thought of the civilians and children inside Mount Weather whose lives she ended with the pull of a lever. So she said, “I wasn’t very good at saving people."

Shay nodded thoughtfully, like this made perfect sense to her. She dabbed a sweet-smelling ointment from one of her numerous vials and rubbed it into Clarke’s abdomen. Her fingers made gentle, circular motions on Clarke’s skin. “What’s that?” Clarke asked. Shay's answer came in a prattle of Trigedasleng, with many words unfamiliar to Clarke. She could make out something about herbs and redness and healing – an anti-inflammatory potion, then. Shay worked as she spoke, putting away the vial and redressing the wound with clean bandages. Clarke was yet unfamiliar with the medical terminology in Trigedasleng, but nevertheless listened and tried to pick out what she could about Grounder medicine and fitting that into what she knew of medicine used on the Ark.

A movement behind the apprentice caught her eye and she looked up to see Lexa enter. Her striking figure in the Commander’s cloak and armor made Clarke a little starry-eyed, a fact she admitted only with reluctance. But despite her confident stance, Clarke could see Lexa’s weariness in the droop of her shoulders. The Commander removed the cloak and undid the buckles of her armor, draping both on a low table. The sound made Shay turn around. “Heda.” The girl bowed her head in respect, and Lexa’s head dipped in wordless response. Shay gave quick instructions to Clarke about keeping the wound clean and not tearing it while she packed up her things in the satchel she carried.

When the young healer left the chamber, Lexa plopped onto the couch next to Clarke, her stern, impassive mask gone to reveal her weariness. Clarke pulled her down to pillow her head on her lap, and Lexa complied with a soft sigh that seemed to release the tension in her. Clarke brushed the stray brown curls away from her forehead and ran her hand from her hairline, along the top of her head, and to the back of her skull. She repeated the soothing motion, as though she were stroking a cat, and Lexa gave a hum, her eyes drifting shut. Clarke was struck by how young she looked. Her commanding presence and the way she carried herself with dignity made it easy to forget that she was only two or three years older than Clarke. Her heart squeezed with secret joy that she was the only one who got to see this side of Lexa, that the fearsome Commander of the twelve clans was limp and content in her lap. It was almost as satisfying as looking up between slender legs to see Lexa’s face scrunched up in ecstasy. _Almost._  


She began taking out the braids in Lexa’s hair, running her fingers through brown curls and making Lexa sigh in pleasure. “How was your day?"

Green eyes opened slowly, fixing her in a still, cat-like stare. “I spoke to Titus."

The fingers running through brunette strands faltered for a moment before resuming their motion – barely noticeable but Lexa noticed all the same. “And?"

“He showed no remorse for what he did.” Although Lexa’s voice was cooly detached, Clarke could detect the hint of anger that thrummed underneath it. For the shortest of moments Lexa’s eyes flickered towards Clarke’s abdomen and her eyebrows pulled down slightly. Then she met Clarke’s gaze again, expression neutral as ever. “Do you want me to kill him?"

The question caught Clarke off guard and fingers froze between brown curls. She shouldn’t have been surprised, she knew how important justice and vengeance meant to Trikru, and how often they meant the same thing. For the wronged to judge the wrongdoer – that was their way. “What do you want?” she asked Lexa.

This time there was no mistaking the drawn brow, the furrowed forehead. She brushed her fingers gently along Clarke’s waist, skirting the edge of the injury. “He deserves to be punished for what he did to you. For what he tried to do.” Her voice was tight with suppressed anger. "Justice, _and_ the laws of our people, demand that he should be killed by a thousand cuts."

“But?” Clarke prompted, sensing that it was coming.

Lexa sighed and her weight disappeared from Clarke's lap as she rolled off the couch and onto her feet in a graceful movement. "Titus has been _Fleimkappa_ since before I was born." She paced the room as she spoke, hands behind her back. "Some of my warriors have served many Commanders, but only one Flamekeeper. Loyalties to him are strong – stronger than they are to me, perhaps.” She was facing away from Clarke as she said this, but Clarke could see the way her jaw tightened, head the edge in her voice, and knew that it stung her to admit this. “To kill him would be the way of _jus drein jus daun_ – a way I have denounced. If I execute Titus for the spilling of your blood, I will be called a hypocrite, seen as _too weak_ ” – she spat the word out between gritted teeth – "to demand justice for my own people massacred by Skaikru. We will be lucky if even half of the twelve clans remain in the Coalition, even luckier if they don’t move against me and against Skaikru. Some of my own warriors, those loyal to Titus, may even rise up against me. Peace” – the green eyes that met Clarke’s were distressed – “would be impossible."

Clarke nodded, a tight knot in her stomach. “And if you don’t?” she asked. She had a feeling that things wouldn’t look much better.

Lexa paused in her pacing, and turned to fix Clafke in a piercing stare. “It would send the message that I agree with his actions. That I would turn a blind eye to a move against you – and your people.” Her impassivity slipped for a moment to reveal a vehemence as she said, "I cannot allow that."

Despite the dire situation, her fierce protectiveness sent a thrill of adoration through Clarke. But that quickly took a backseat to the myriad of anxiety and worry. "Then what will you do?"

"That depends on if you want to see him dead," Lexa replied calmly and Clarke was reminded once again that bloodshed in this culture was commonplace as counsel.

She blinked to clear her head, to make a decision. "What I want doesn't matter here,” she said, rising from the couch and stepping closer to Lexa. "We have to do what's right for our people. We have to stop a war." The unspoken "again" hung heavy in the air.

Lexa gave the briefest of nods. “You may be a wiser leader than I,” she conceded, her eyes glowing with admiration, “to be able to choose peace over vengeance.” Her gaze hardened. "But I cannot allow him to go unpunished. An attack on my lover is an attack on me."

Without thinking Clarke reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together, and it was not Heda but Lexa who gave her that tiny smile she loved so much. Clarke couldn’t resist kissing her on the lips. Lexa cupped Clarke’s cheek with her free hand, fingers weaving between her hair, returning the kiss, before they pulled apart and rested their forehead against each other's. Clarke brushed her nose against Lexa’s, earning her a shy smile from the other girl. “Call me that again,” she said in a low, husky whisper.

“My lover,” Lexa breathed. She kissed Clarke on the lips once, barely more than a peck. “ _Ai niron_.” Another kiss. “ _Ai skaifaya._ ” Kiss. “ _Ai hodness._ ” With the final endearment the kiss she gave was deep as a river and strong as a mountain. 

"Wow," Clarke murmured as they broke apart, eyes flickering over Lexa's intense gaze of adoration. "That definitely beats calling you my girlfriend." She chuckled; that term was pathetically inadequate for describing what Lexa was to her. Lexa’s smile widened, eyes deep pools of emotions, and Clarke slipped a hand behind her head to pull her lips against her own again. And all that there was in that moment was _Lexa_ , all around her – her mouth open against hers, her tongue, her hands in her hair, on her waist, her scent of vanilla and candles. When Clarke pulled back, just for a moment, the glint of tears on Lexa’s cheeks made her pause. Her passion turned to tenderness, and she cradled her lover’s face in her palm.

For a moment there were no words, simply each other’s presence. Clarke watched Lexa’s long lashes, glistening with wetness, the curve of her lips as they quivered with each breath she took, the ardor swimming in eyes as green as the forest that greeted her when she stepped out of the dropship onto Earth for the very first time. And she knew that there could be no other man or woman for her as long as she lived.The knowledge settled in her heart with the weight of a thousand lives, but at the same time lifted her spirit to soar like a falcon. Whether she would outlive Lexa by decades, or if they could grow old together and rule side by side, Lexa was the only one for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be traveling for the next week and a half, and I'll be busy after that, so here's a quick update (and our favorite couple being all soft and gross).
> 
> Trigedasleng translations:  
> Ai niron: My lover  
> Ai skaifaya: My star  
> Ai hodness: My love


	7. Chapter 7

 

“We’ll have to make a decision soon,” Lexa said as the soft light of dawn filtered through her window. Clarke groaned and buried her face in Lexa’s shoulder, tightening the arm around her waist.

“Couldn’t have waited until the sun rose?” she grumbled.

Lexa chuckled. “The Commander's duty rises with the sun, and does not set until the moon does."

Clarke huffed, ruffling the loose curls at the base of Lexa's neck. "Sounds exhausting."

The other girl's answer was grave. "Being Commander is never an easy path, Clarke.” The syllables of her name had never sounded so sweet as when they curled around the other girl’s tongue, and Clarke snuggled closer to Lexa’s bare back. The previous evening had ended agreeably, she thought, even though Lexa had limited their activities due to the still-seeping wound in her abdomen. Even half-incoherent with passion Lexa still put Clarke before herself.

Not that she wasn't grateful; last night's activities wore her out more than either pride or Lexa’s worry would let her admit. So though she teased Lexa for her protectiveness, it was a little breathtaking to have someone who cared about her so much. So she took care of Lexa in return. Clarke smiled at the memory of how Lexa’s body had responded to her touches last night. She stroked her hand along the smooth muscle of Lexa's stomach, over her navel, until their fingers twined together.

Lexa gave a satisfied hum and squeezed her hand, but reminded her gently nonetheless, "We have to get up. I’m holding council today and you should be there. I want them to see that Wanheda is alive and well despite the assassination attempt."

" _Sha, Heda,_ " Clarke said with a mischievous grin. 

Lexa turned to look at her. "I will pronounce Titus's sentence today," she said in seriousness. “I cannot to be indecisive. And you should decide his sentence – vengeance is yours, after all."

"I know you’d prefer him dead," Clarke said, sobering, “but if his influence reaches as far as you say, then for both our people’s sakes we need to spare his life. Take away his position instead," she suggested.

"Yet if I do," Lexa pointed out, "he still has, if not the command, then the loyalty and ears of many warriors. What would stop him from fanning the flames of the whispers against me?" She sat up and looked at Clarke with green eyes grave with worry, her hair falling on one side of her neck and exposing the delicate curve of her neck and shoulder. Clarke wanted to run her hand along that smooth curve, down from Lexa's jaw to her neck and shoulder, the curve of her breast, her waist, her hip...

Clarke shook her head to clear it. "He wouldn't," she said. "Titus is many things, but he wants what is best for your people. And if he has a grain of sense he would know that it means you on your throne."

A small but genuine smile flickered briefly into Lexa's lips.

"Besides," Clarke added with a wry smile, propping her head up with a hand, her elbow on the bed, "he was doing what he thought was best for his people; both of us know what it's like to betray the ones we love for that."

Lexa's eyes grew bittersweet and unfocused, set on a memory. "We do," she admitted softly. Her gaze sharpened as it turned on Clarke,"Very well," she said, "it shall be as you say."

It struck Clarke that Lexa, the ruthless, savage _Heda_ who demanded Finn's blood and refused to take no for an answer, was now willing to spare a life she keenly wanted to take, for the sake of peace, and for Clarke. Lexa amazed her, continuously. Rather than lay around fishing for inadequate words, she sat up, slipped a hand behind behind Lexa's neck and kissed her. Lexa’s body melted into hers as their mouths connected, a hand on Clarke's waist to draw her closer, their chests pressed against each other's. A deep kiss later Lexa drew back, that barely there smile on her lips, and Clarke felt a wild surge of joy that this beautiful woman was hers. 

She wanted to kiss Lexa again, to spend all day in bed in an encore of last night, to remind Lexa of just how much she loved her, in spite of her incredulity and awe, to see the look of reverence on her face in the moments when they paused and looked at one another. But –

"We need to get up," Lexa said again. She gracefully unfolded her long limbs and got out of bed. Clarke stayed for a moment under the fur covers, admiring Lexa's body as she moved about the room. The subtle sway of her hips, the curve of her spine as she bent to gather their discarded clothes from the floor, the ripple of lean muscle across her shoulder blades as she reached up to run her hands through the wild tangle of her hair.

Knowing that if she watched any longer she would beckon Lexa back to the bed – and that there was a fifty-fifty chance the other woman would give in – Clarke reluctantly forced herself to leave the warmth of the bed. She went to the dresser for her clothes just as Lexa drew back from it, and their shoulder and hip brushed for a moment. Their eyes touched and a flash of warmth, brighter than that of their skin, passed between them. Lexa’s smile widened a microscopic amount, and the warmth made its home in in Clarke’s belly.

She was ready for that council meeting, to announce Titus’s punishment and put this incident behind them. She was no longer naive enough to believe that settling this matter would mean peace, but she had hope that it was a step in that direction. And she _knew_ , that she and Lexa would do whatever it took so that there could be peace between their people.

* * *

 

The Commander of the thirteen clans stood tall and proud before her generals and ambassadors, chin held high, hands behind her back, feet slightly apart. Though the youngest in the room, except for Clarke, there could be no mistaking who the Commander was. It was not only in the crimson cloak that swept from her shoulder to the floor, or the carved throne behind her, or the black war paint across her eyes. It was in the air of self-assurance and authority about her, and the way the others looked towards her with respect and subservience.

The ambassadors sat in high-backed wooden chairs arranged in a semi-circle before her. Behind the ambassadors stood the elite warriors and high-ranking generals, mostly from Trikru with a handful from the other clans, and at the back of the room were the Nightbloods, come to observe and learn. Clarke was seated on one end of ambassador’s seats, on a tapering horn of the gathered crowd, farthest from the center but closest to the front of the room where Lexa stood – and in plain sight for all the others to see.

Lexa's commanding voice reverberated in the stillness of the throne room. "Bring out the prisoner."

The doors at the far end of the hall opened, and Titus was brought in by a pair of guards. Despite his bound wrists, he stood straight and walked with no less dignity than when he was Flamekeeper. He walked down the path in the middle of the hall, ignoring Clarke with deliberateness, and stopped before the throne. He looked at the Commander with his chin held high, and in return she regarded him coolly for a second before directing her gaze back to her audience, as though the sight of him bored her.

"Worthy generals, warriors, and ambassadors from all the thirteen clans,” she addressed the gathered crowd. "We're here today to decide the fate of the traitor, Titus kom Trikru."

Hushed voices and movements rippled through the gathered warriors. Lexa had been right, there were some who were not be happy with the pronouncement of Titus as traitor.

The Commander waited until the last rings of the ripples subsided and the room was still once more. "As you all know, Titus has made an attempt on the life of _Wanheda_ , an ambassador of Skaikru" – once again the crowd murmured amongst themselves but this time Lexa spoke over them, an edge in her voice sharp as an unsheathed blade that flashed in the sunlight – “a guest here in Polis, as are many of you." She met the eyes of each ambassador as she spoke. Some of them looked away, shamefaced and unable to withstand the unspoken challenge in her eyes. “She is under my protection. As such, this is a crime I cannot forgive – not towards any guest in Polis, especially an ambassador come in peace to honor our Coalition. As such,Titus must be punished accordingly.” For the first time since she began speaking, she looked at the bald man before her and her council. “The penalty for treason is death."

She watched the faces of her generals and ambassadors. Many of them were uneasy at this declaration, but none dared to speak out, nor even murmur to those next to them. The silence was rich with voices of unspoken dissent. The Commander let the disquiet stretch on for a moment, let it settle in the room and seep into the rafters and walls and the heart of each warrior. Only then did she speak. “However,” she conceded, and the tension ebbed as abruptly as it descended, “he has served as _Fleimkappa_ faithfully for many years. Let it not be said that his loyalty is forgotten. His life will be spared as a reward for his service. But Titus will no longer hold the honor of  _Fleimkappa_ , nor will he have claim to any titles, privileges, or rank.

“He can never again take up sword nor spear, and must live a life without war, in either deed or word.” She paused to inhale deeply. The whole council seemed to be holding its breath too, waiting for her to speak, waiting for the final words of the Commander’s mercy or condemnation. When she did, her voice rung with finality. "If any gathered here objects, let them speak now."

None made a sound of objection. Lexa met Clarke's eyes, green eyes full of certainty and assurance, and gave a single nod so subtle that it was somehow intimate though they were in a room full of people. _It is done._  Clarke returned the minute movement, a mix of feelings tumbling in her chest despite her composed and unreadable expression – awe for how Lexa held sway over the council, gratitude for her respect, pride in her for choosing peace over vengeance and bloodshed.

Lexa looked at her former Flamekeeper with a coldness so fierce it could burn. "Then it is done. At sunrise you will be a free man." Even as she said the words evenly and her face smooth as a still pond, there was a fire in her eyes and the hint of roughness in her voice that suggested that she felt it was too light a sentence for his crimes.

“ _Heda._ ” There was a collective sharp intake of breath and all eyes turned to Titus as he broke the silence that was his to hold. He spoke with the self-assurance of a man accustomed to authority, to speaking in council, to addressing a Commander. A subtle irreverence and arrogance that was now magnified by his lowly status as prisoner. Yet he spoke as he always had, as a Flamekeeper spoke to his Commander, as though he had every right to. “If I may explain myself before you and this council –"

“You’ve had your chance." Lexa cut him off with a snarl, anger blazing through her paper-thin patience, eyes alight with green flame. "And I have decided your sentence with more mercy than you warrant. Guards!" She raised her voice and the pair who brought him in stood forth. "Take him away before I change my mind."

The guards took hold of Titus's arms and led him through the doors which he came through. As he made his exit he met Clarke's gaze for the first time since he stepped into the room – and the intensity of the livid, undiluted hatred in his eyes sent a foreboding shiver through her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but at least this is a pretty long chapter?  
> Next one's going to take a while, too, since I have exams now and will be pretty busy for the next couple of months.  
> I'll try to write when I can!
> 
> I'm also kind of stuck for ideas about how they deal with the Pike problem, so give me some suggestions in the comments!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of canon are ignored, especially concerning world-building and Grounder culture. ESPECIALLY where canon is stupid.

The throne room seemed so much bigger when they were the only two people in it. The room emptied after Titus’s trial. The warriors left first, followed by the ambassadors, four or five of whom spoke softly to Lexa in private before leaving, and to each she responded with a few words and a gracious dip of her head. Then Lexa gathered her Nightbloods, who had stood quiet and observant throughout the council, to the front of the room. “You have watched, and I hope you have learned,” she said, her tone firm and even. “Remember how I have judged, and keep that in your hearts when it is your turn to judge. Mercy is stronger than vengeance.”

" _Jus nou drein jus daun_ ,” they chimed in reply.

The trace of a proud smile graced Lexa’s lips as she dismissed them. They turned to leave, but one of the younger Nightbloods asked, “Heda, why did you not sentence him to die?"

“Fair question, Lila.” Lexa’s head tilted to the side, thoughtful. “Think on this tonight, and tomorrow when we meet I want each of you to give me a reason.” Each of their heads bobbed up and down one of two times. “You may leave.” The seven children filed out of the throne room, and only Clarke and Lexa were left.

Lexa turned to Clarke, concern in her green eyes. “Are you okay?"

“Fine.” Clarke didn’t say anything about the murderous look Titus gave her before he was dragged out of the room. It would only make Lexa worry and regret her decision to let him live. “It’s behind us now.” She hoped as she said the words that they were true. _Of course they are_ , she told herself firmly. “So what’s going to happen now?"

“I’ll have to choose a new _fleimkappa._ "

“Is there a successor?” Clarke asked.

Lexa shook her head briefly, turning away as she paced the room. “Commanders appoint their own Flamekeepers. A Flamekeeper is the Commander’s most trusted advisor, so it is not uncommon for them to be a Nightblood.” Sensing Clarke’s surprise, she added, “Someone raised and trained with the Commander, who fought by their side. Someone like a brother or sister.” Her smile was forlorn. “I have none."

Clarke’s brow furrowed. She rose from the high-backed chair of the ambassador, ignoring the tug of her stitches as she walked too fast towards Lexa. “I thought that at the Conclave, the Nightbloods fought to the death.” She took her lover’s hand, her gaze at once demanding and imploring.

Surprise flashed across Lexa’s expression. “No, the Conclave –“ understanding settled on her face as she realized the reason Clarke thought so. “No,” she repeated, more evenly as her face stilled into a blank mask. “That was just my Conclave. Something…” her brow crinkled. “Something went wrong."

“Lexa…"

She brushed her off, slipping her hand from Clarke’s fingers. “I will think of who I wish to appoint as my next Flamekeeper,” she said, her tone businesslike. “In the meantime, we need to talk about Skaikru."

Clarke’s heart fell, heavy as a pebble in a river. Her people – who had chosen war over peace, who had thrown away everything she and Lexa worked for, ever since she plunged that knife in Finn’s heart. “Skaikru,” she echoed.

“There have been reports from the blockade. Skaikru scouts have tried to cross it, fought those who hold it. Some of them were injured, but more of my own warriors were killed.” Anger danced across her eyes, brief as a sudden gust that stirred green leaves into movement. “Many, including Indra, want me to declare war."

“Maybe you should.” The words, sharp and brittle, were out of Clarke’s mouth before she could stop them. They dropped into the empty throne room, like stones sinking soundlessly into a still pond, leaving ripples of disturbance in their wake. The air was taut as a drawn bowstring with an arrow notched to it. Both women were still but for their sharp intake of breath. They watched each other, eyes wide, both waiting for the other’s reaction, waiting for the other to move or speak first and snap the tightness that hummed like lightning.

Clarke broke it and the world suddenly started resumed its orbit. “I meant what I said that day, you know,” she said, more gently. “I release you from your vow."

Lexa’s expression softened too. “You were in pain, Clarke, you didn’t know what you were saying.”

Clarke shook her head. “But I did,” she said emphatically. “What you’ve done for my people – that’s more than I ever hoped for. I can’t keep asking more of you. My people have made their choice, and it’s not fair for you to protect them, especially not at the expense of _your_ people."

“Clarke, I’m not just protecting them.” Clarke didn’t need to ask her what she meant, the look of vulnerability in her green eyes was enough – _I’m protecting you, too._

Clarke’s half-smile mirrored the slight quirk of Lexa’s lips. She reached for Lexa’s hand again, and this time she did not pull away, but laced their fingers together, drawing them closer together. “I know,” she said, and her words brushed Lexa’s lips in place of her mouth. “But maybe,” she said as they pulled apart and she looked into the glistening green eyes, “you have to stop doing that, and let _me_ protect my people for a change."

“Clarke” – she was met with a scoff – “you do little else."

“But they’re _my_ responsibility,” she said. “Not yours. And you shouldn’t – _your people_ shouldn’t – have to die for that.” She took a deep breath and said the words they both knew were coming, that they both were dreading. “I need to go back."

“No.” It was a command, and it was the Commander who gave it.

“Look, I don’t want to go either, but I have to make them see sense."

“Last time you went back they imprisoned you,” Lexa pointed out. "They could hurt you or – “ _or kill you._ The unspoken words hung heavy in the air. 

“They wouldn’t,” Clarke insisted, but even as she said the words she knew that she could make no such promise. Under Kane, things would be different, but this was Pike. She didn’t doubt that he would kill his own daughter if she did what Clarke had done. “I’ll be fine,” she said, to reassure Lexa as much as herself. “I was going to go back anyway, before we –"

“You were shot,” Lexa said. “I won't let you go riding off by yourself."

Clarke’s chin tilted up, a challenge in her unwavering gaze. “I’m not asking for permission."

Lexa’s _Heda_ mask wavered and then snapped back into place, so quickly that it seemed a trick of the light, but Clarke saw in the brief second how her expression crumpled with the hurt. A rational part of her mind knew that she should feel guilty for hurting her lover, but that part was silenced by the sharp annoyance and anger that seared through her veins with every beat of her heart. Lexa’s face was now unreadable as ever, her jaw tightening as she bit out the single word, “Fine."

And it was like the fall of a blade. Final and resolute, severing whatever fragile thing was between them. And with that single word the anger in Clarke’s blood reared and she snapped in return, “Fine. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.” She turned on her heel and marched out of the throne room before the bitter taste of regret on her tongue could overpower her.

If she had looked back before she left, she would have seen how Lexa suddenly seemed to shrink in stature, her aura of command disappearing as her head bowed in defeat and sadness, green eyes cast to the floor and blinking away the wetness that gathered in them. She would have seen that it was no longer the Commander who watched her leave but simply a girl who looked impossibly small as she stood, alone in a vast hall before her throne.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Life happened.  
> I promise I'll post the next chapter soon, won't leave you guys hanging there for too long.


	9. Chapter 9

It was foolish, really, but Lexa delayed going back to her rooms – _their_ rooms – and it really was remarkable how quickly her rooms became _her and Clarke's_. How quickly and suddenly the other girl had become a part of her life. During her recovery she had become a constant presence in Lexa's rooms, someone to come home to instead of the solitude that haunted her chambers like a half-forgotten ghost. 

And now, as Lexa stepped into her bedroom, she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed that no one was there to greet her except the familiar feeling of loneliness.

She undressed, taking off her cloak and hanging it on the hook by the door. Then she stripped herself of her armor, dropping it carelessly on the sofa. She kicked her boots off and relished in the feeling of the lush carpet beneath her toes. Her leggings and tunic followed, as did the bindings around her breasts. She slipped on a thin nightgown over her head and, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, crossed the room to the bed. She crawled in between the furs, cocooning herself in their comforting softness. 

She wasn't aware that she had fallen asleep until she was woken up by the feeling of the bed dipping with the weight of a second body and a pair of arms encircling her waist. And just like that, the invisible band around Lexa’s chest loosened. For a while there were no words, simply the two of them breathing in sync with each other, chest against back, rising and falling together. Though the sting of their fight still throbbed in Lexa's chest, it was joined by the sigh of relief of the pieces of the universe clicking back into place again. She savored that sweet ache, wanted to pretend that this tranquility had never been disrupted, that this completion and peace and _rightness_ that now enveloped them was all there ever had been between them.

But she couldn’t. She shattered the silence with a single word: "why?"

"Why what?" Came Clarke's reply from her back, husky with drowsiness.

Lexa almost regret bursting her blissful bubble, almost swallowed her next words out of dread that it would start another fight. But she said them all the same, crystalline-clear. “Why did you come back?"

Clarke shifted behind her, but the hands on her stomach clasped her closer. Without turning around she knew that the other girl was smiling. "I couldn't leave you with a fight, could I?" Clarke did not miss the way the tension drained out of Lexa’s body, and she pressed a kiss to the back of Lexa’s neck. "I'm still leaving at dawn, though,” she said, the defiant edge evident even in her low tone. You can't change my mind.”

"I know," replied Lexa, mournful. "And I wouldn't want you to,” she admitted. "That's who you are and..." she sighed as she said the next words, "I wouldn't change that."

"Thank you." The words were followed by another kiss to the side of her neck, this one more lingering and tender. “If I do this, if this works, it will be the last time my people or yours will come between us.”

Lexa turned to face her lover. "Just be careful, okay?" she said, green eyes imploring. Clarke thought they shimmered with unshed tears, but she told herself that it was just a trick of the light. But they were captivating and soulful and _so, so vulnerable_ , and Clarke’s gaze softened.

"Of course.” Her fingers traced over the tattoo that curled around Lexa's arm. "This feels familiar,” she said, “Like, deja vu."

Lexa's brow creased for a moment at the unfamiliar term but she understood the sentiment. Clarke leaving for Arkadia in the morning, their limited time together, one last night... "It does," she agreed. "Who knows, maybe this time I'll be the one who gets shot."

The smile on Clarke's lips was immediately replaced by a frown and a furrowed brow. "Don't you dare joke about your death," she said fiercely. "It's not funny."

Lexa smoothed out the knot in the center of Clarke's forehead with a kiss. "Don't worry," she said, "my spirit has no plans of leaving my body just yet."

"Good," Clarke said firmly. “Because I have plans for your body when I come back."

“Oh? Like what?”

Clarke gave a sharp-toothed grin, the wicked sparkle in her blue eyes made Lexa's heart jump. Her hand slid up from Lexa's waist to her breast, rubbing it through the thin nightgown. “This could just be a start" Clarke said, her voice low and teasing and Lexa whimpered, leaning into her touch. “Clarke…"

"Tell me," Clarke demanded, her hand growing firmer, her hips hinting at a grind, and Lexa gave a little gasp. 

"Tell me what you want," Clarke repeated.   


"You," came Lexa’s breathless reply. "I want you."

Clarke's grin widened. "Good." And when she finally kissed Lexa her mouth was just forceful enough for Lexa to forget that when the morning came they would be apart again.

* * *

Lexa was still asleep when Clarke woke. Light shone in through the windows, weak and watery, and she knew that it would be a gray and rainy day. Somehow the weather seemed fitting for the day she would leave her lover. Her expression unguarded in sleep, Lexa looked so much younger than she seemed in her waking hours. Her brow was unknotted, the line of her jaw relaxed. She looked so peaceful, so unburdened by the responsibilities of _Heda_ , that Clarke couldn’t wake her. She whispered a promise in her ear, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then she kissed her on the forehead, a long, lingering kiss where she committed the feel and smell of her skin to memory, until they would meet again.  


She dressed quickly and made her way to the stables. It wasn’t raining, but a fog blanketed the ground, thick enough to rival the clouds that bruised the sky. A horse was prepared for her, and a pair of warriors as her escort. “Heda’s orders,” Kylos said, “And this for Indra at the blockade” – he showed her a note written in Lexa’s hand – "to let you pass."

Lexa was thorough, and Clarke felt touched that even when they were fighting Lexa had cared for her safety, because she must have made these preparations before they made up last night. She felt a little guilty for leaving Lexa without a proper goodbye. But she also knew that she couldn’t stand saying goodbye again, not when she didn’t know when she would return. And not when she might not have the strength to force herself to leave. It was one thing when she was hot-headed with responsibility and defiance, another when Lexa’s soulful green eyes were on her, sad but empathetic, which somehow made her leaving worse; when soft lips were on her own, begging her to stay without the words they were too proud and too understanding to say out loud. 

Three riders left Polis shrouded by fog, almost unnoticed. It wasn’t raining, though the overcast sky promised it would later in the day, but Clarke’s face and clothes were already damp from the droplets of water that hung in the air. Every time her horse’s hooves touched the ground she could feel them churning the mud. It was going to be a long, wet day, and she thought of the comfortable bed she left, the warm furs, and the sleeping girl who would wait for her to return. Flanked by her guards, she took the main road that led out of the city like an artery branching into capillaries that grew thinner the further they rode away from the heart of the thirteen clans, and away from her heart, safe in Lexa’s keeping.

* * *

Lexa woke to soft furs and a bed as empty as the sinking feeling in her chest. Part of her had known that Clarke would be gone when she woke. She didn’t know why, but when she hovered between consciousness and sleep the night before, feeling sated and safe and impossibly content in Clarke’s arms, she had suddenly been gripped with the sadness that _this was goodbye_. So she wasn’t surprised when she woke, but there was no dispelling the disappointment that tightened around her heart. The unoccupied side of the bed, the furs holding cold air instead of a warm body, the indent in the pillow, stung her with a glaring emptiness.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Clarke had to be a leader for her people, and so did she. So she closed the door on her feelings with a familiar detachment that settled on her like a second skin, and got ready for what was going to be a long day.

* * *

Miles away, three riders rode along a narrow forest path turned to mud with rain. Mist clung to the leaves and branches like spiderwebs, sticking to their hair and clothes and exposed skin. The three of them exchanging few words, their spirits dampened by the water that dripped on them from the leaves and branches above-head. Behind them, the tower of Polis had long since disappeared behind the treetops. Before them was the lonely forest path and a long day’s ride.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter for a little while, I'm going to be traveling for a few weeks so I probably won't write much until I'm home, so I wanted to upload this so that we won't leave Clexa with a fight for too long. This seems like a good enough place for a brief hiatus, and the end of what I think of as Act I of the fic.


	10. Chapter 10

It was nightfall by the time they reached the blockade. The pair of warriors standing guard exchanged a few words with them, and Clarke was taken to Indra. The tents, armed warriors, their strategic location just on the other side of the hill that bordered Arkadia – it reminded Clarke all too much of when she had come to Lexa to bargain for Finn’s life. Only this time, she was not going to into an enemy’s camp, but a friend’s. The nods that greeted her, the eyes that gleamed through warpaint and tattoos, were at the least respectful, and maybe even friendly, rather than hostile. Somehow, the smell of horses and leather, the soft light of fires, and abrupt syllables of Trigedasleng had lost their alienness.

Indra was barking orders at a patrol group when Clarke approached with her escorts. The general dismissed the group and turned her attention to the new arrivals. “Message from the Commander,” Kylos said, showing her the note. Indra took it silently, dark eyes skimming its contents by torchlight, her expression impassive. When she was done reading she addressed Clarke, “Walk with me.” The younger woman fell in step beside the Trikru warrior.

“Took you long enough to get here,” Indra said once they were out of earshot of Clarke’s escorts.

Clarke bit her lip, not denying the accusation. “I’m here now,” she said. 

“And what do you think you can do?” Indra questioned.

Clarke didn’t know if it was meant as a challenge or in earnest, but she replied, “I’ll convince them that Pike is a mistake that needs to be stopped. They’ll hand him over.”

“You think they’ll listen to you?” Now whatever hint of hostility in Indra gave way to genuine curiosity, and Clarke didn’t know how to reply. _Would_ they? A few months ago, when they were fighting Mount Weather and she had a voice in the council room; when her mother and Kane were in charge; and even if the adults didn’t listen to her the rest of the kids sent down with her did. Back then, she could have made a difference. But now, when she had been gone for months, abandoned them after killing hundreds in Mount Weather, now that Pike was chancellor and there was a price on her head, would her people listen to what she had to say? Or was she as good as dead to them? In front of Lexa she had been sure, she _had_ to be sure, or she wouldn't have left. But now, under the scrutiny of Indra’s shrewd gaze, she didn't have an answer.

But she had to give one. So she steeled herself and forced herself to meet Indra’s eyes. “They’ll have to."

The general nodded. “For your sake, and for Lexa’s, I hope they do."

* * *

Arkadia. The remnants of the Ark rose abruptly from the clearing in a jagged frame of metal, as alien as a meteor. Harsh electric lights glinted off the surfaces of space-metal and guns. Once this was home, Clarke thought, but – was this _ever_ a home? "Home" had meant the Ark up in space for the first seventeen years of her life, and then it had meant her people, the ones she had to protect, the ones she would still give up a limb to protect, and then – well, then Lexa became her home. And this place – this shell of metal that she lived in for seventeen years, this land her people had taken and claimed for themselves – was not home any more than airless space had ever been a home for mankind. 

Clarke took a deep breath and approached the compound.

She skirted the edge of the fence, staying in the cover of darkness of the trees. She found the vent Octavia used to sneak her in and out last time, a short distance away from the forest. She dashed across the open section of ground where every damp blade of glass was silhouetted in silver. The clouds that hung ominously that morning had relieved their watery burdens onto the earth, and the moon waxed so bright that the stars were barely visible.

Clarke removed the grid that covered the air duct and crawled into the tunnel. The Ark was meant to sustain life for two centuries in space, and as such had an excellent ventilation system. It was also designed to be easily accessed for maintenance, and so a grown man could fit into a shaft. It was too low for Clarke to stand, but was high enough for her to move comfortably on her hands and knees, and in places even at a low crouch. 

Clarke got lost several times in the complicated maze of the air ducts. They led all over the Ark, and she found herself in the empty council room, the mess hall where men and women shared stories of their days over food and drink, corridors that people strode through purposefully, the main gate where – with a sinking feeling in her stomach – she saw patrols returning from the blockade with guns and injuries. Every room, it seemed, except for the one she was trying to find. 

Then finally she heard the familiar voice through a vent. “They're all stable for tonight. Go get some sleep, I'll stay with them."

"You sure about this, Abby?” Jackson, all quiet concern. "You've had a long day."

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Jackson,” Abby replied, and even without seeing it Clarke could picture her mother’s face – drawn with tiredness and stress, but giving a smile nonetheless, though it didn’t touch her eyes.

Jackson returned a “goodnight” and Clarke heard the door close behind him. Abby gave a lone sigh that seemed to reverberate around the now-empty med bay. Peering through the gaps of the air vent, Clarke saw her mother sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. Half a dozen patients lay on beds and gurneys, sporting various degrees of injuries and, for the time being, all asleep. She looked tired, and Clarke felt guilty for what she was about to make her do. But her sense of duty won over. There was no one else in Arkadia she could unconditionally trust. She glanced about the room to make sure that all the patients were asleep, and rapped her knuckles lightly against the vent.

Abby’s head snapped up. She looked about the room, her posture tense.

Clarke tapped the vent again. “Over here,” she whispered.

Abby’s eyes widened at the sound of her daughter’s voice. She turned towards the air vent, like she meant to go over – but she didn’t. “My room in five minutes,” she said under her breath, barely moving her lips.

Thanks to her earlier exploration of the air ducts, Clarke had little trouble finding Abby’s room. Her mother was already there when she opened the grid that covered the vent and dropped down from the low ceiling. She stumbled a bit, pain lancing across her stomach and she hoped Abby didn’t notice her wince. Before she was on her feet she was in Abby’s arms, and she hugged her back tightly. She had missed her mother more than she could admit, and she let herself forget, just for a moment, that she was a little girl once again and there was nothing in the world her mother’s hug couldn’t fix.

But she wasn’t, and this problem was bigger than what either of them could solve alone. “Mom,” she said when Abby released her. “I need your help."

“Wait, tell me what happened. Octavia came back without you, and then the blockade went up."

Clarke shook her head. “It’s okay, I got held up by something but that’s not important.” It was best not to tell Abby about the attempt on her life, she thought; she had a tendency to overreact when someone tried to kill Clarke, which wasn’t exactly unusual these days, she thought wryly. “Lexa agreed to the blockade so that we would have time to take out Pike ourselves – but I’m starting to see that that they need a push in the right direction."

Abby nodded. “What are you planning?"

“I need to know who I can trust. And then we’ll hand Pike over to the Grounders and end this war before it’s begun."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those dreaded filler chapters and I'm sorry for that. The next one will be a lot better and longer, I promise!


	11. Chapter 11

The light filtering into the throne room through the gauze curtain behind Lexa turned from bright daylight to brilliant gold to the half-shadows of dusk. Their faces illuminated, the ambassadors from each of the clans sat in a half-circle, facing the throne. Standing behind their seats were the generals and elite warriors. There were two empty chairs – one for the ambassador of Skaikru, and the other, more regal and throne-like, set at the foot of the dais on which the Commander sat, was the conspicuously vacant seat of the Flamekeeper.

The Commander's face was half-hidden in shadow. Elbow on the arm of her throne, chin propped up by the backs of her fingers, as she listened to the protests of her people. She had been at this all day. The council meeting of the morning had turned into a heated argument over Skaikru. They had broke for their midday meal, after which Lexa granted audience to the common folk – those from the far-off clans, those who had traveled to Polis, as well as citizens of Polis, hearing their grievances about dishonest merchants, rogue bandits, stolen goods. The council meeting resumed in the evening, with fresh voices added to those who had always been against her decision regarding Skaikru. 

“How long are we to hold the blockade?” questioned Millo, leader of a Trikru village. “You say that Skaikru will overthrow their leader, but what if they never do? Warriors from my village have been summoned to the blockade, who will defend us when our enemies come attacking us?"

“And who might your enemies be?” retaliated Sonya, one of the ambassadors. “All twelve clans are united under the Coalition, there is no more war!"

“Easy for you to say,” Millo rounded on her, “hiding in your mountains to the west. We Trikru have to be prepared to defend our homes. It wasn’t so long ago that Azgeda declared war!"

“Are you saying that Azgeda will dishonor the Coalition?!” The Ice Nation ambassador Conan jumped to his feet. “Don’t you dare blame us if your people are too weak to defend themselves!” he added contemptuously.

“Stop!” Lexa snapped. A headache was threatening beneath her temples, and she realized how much she had relied on Titus to soothe over these concerns in the past, how quickly he jumped to her defense before she had to lift a finger or part her lips to speak. “I will remind you all,” she gave a warning glare to Millo and Conan, “that each clan is bound to the Coalition. To break it is to declare war on all the other clans."

“As Skaikru has done!” Millo argued. “Should we not move against them?” He turned to address the other ambassadors and generals. “We have the advantage in numbers, an army the size of twelve clans. We can wipe them out even as they sit in that camp of metal and wire!" 

“Fool!” Lexa snarled, her patience cracking like thin ice over a winter lake. “They have weapons as good as the Mountain Men’s, perhaps even better. We cannot fight them without losing many of our own – more than we can afford. We have sought peace with them for so long, we cannot give it up when they have offered it to us."

Millo, however, was not persuaded. "My village used to be in the middle of Trikru territory, a rich, safe land. Now we are to give our lands to these strange people who dropped down from the sky? Are we to be neighbors with the murderers who slaughtered our people?” A chorus of “aye”s echoed him. Confidence bolstered, he continued, "How do we know they won’t come in the middle of the night and set fire to our crops and houses? Or put their weapons to our children? These people know no hounour, they obey no code. You want peace, Commander, and that is well and good – but does Skaikru want peace, or do they want to lull us into security before killing us all and taking what is ours by right? In fact, when have they ever delivered what they promised? Where is their leader?” he demanded. “The _skaigada_ might as well have rode off to raise an army against you."

“Do not speak against Clarke!” Lexa snarled, lips curled upwards like a lioness baring her teeth. "Not when she has done more for peace between our people than you have."

Millo’s eyes hardened at the hinted accusation, but kept his silence along with the resentment that gathered on his brow like a storm cloud. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like “bedding her” and the fire under her skin was fanned again. She leaned forward to snap at his impertinence, but –

“ _Heda_.” It was Clem, one of her generals, who spoke. “You speak true, war with Skaikru is unwise, and making peace with them is in favour for all of us. But Millo makes a fair point. Our warriors have better things to do than sitting around waiting for Skaikru to sort out their own problems. It is spring, and a weak spring leads to a poor year. We need everyone we have to be sowing in preparation for the year ahead.” _Especially after the losses in the winter._ The unspoken implication hung heavy as an accusation. Even with the threat of the Mountain removed, more than a fair share of warriors have died in the autumn and winter, with three hundred burnt alive by the first of the Sky People, hundreds killed by the Mountain Men’s missile, three hundred more slaughtered when there was supposed to be peace, and many more killed or crippled by their weapons.

Lexa knew that Clem was right: sowing in spring was vital to the prosperity of the rest of the year, especially in preparation for the hard winter months when the ground would yield no crops and the woods no game. With the inordinate losses in the past year, every man and woman and child, be they warrior or farmer or hunter or healer, had to help with the farming this spring, or it would be a tough year ahead for all of them. She could not deny her people the very chance of survival, the hope for a better year ahead. “Very well,” she conceded, her heart heavy. “Your voices are heard. We will give Skaikru three more days. If they have not taken out their leader by then, half the warriors can return to their villages and sow the seeds for the coming year.” _Please, Clarke,_ she thought, _hurry._

“Thank you, _Heda_.” Clem bowed and stepped back, and this time it was the Sankru ambassador who spoke up with complaints about the lack of representation of the far-off clans in the council. Lexa sighed and sat back, listening and nodding at appropriate intervals. A weariness settled over her body that had nothing to do with age or exertion, but with the sluggish, dragging day. Before now she had never realized how important Titus was. Not only for the settling of minor affairs, where he would judge on her behalf, but also for council meetings, where he would always support her decisions, at least in public, quieting complaints and challengers before she could. And most of all, how much she relied on his guidance. She was isolated without his support. His counsel had been crucial to her rule; she listened to him with the respect of a leader and seriousness of a student. He was someone she trusted implicitly, someone who would advice her in favour of their people, someone who would always back up her decisions. That, above all, was the role of the Flamekeeper. The position remained vacant, as the empty seat below the dais served as a reminder, a cavity in her Council. 

Yet there was no one Lexa trusted to fill the position. She had reservations about the loyalty of her warriors – not to their respective clans, or to their people, but to her specifically. She had no doubt that each and every one of them would fight and die for their clans and their people, but for her, against their neighbors and former allies? She did not have confidence that they would. Her rule was questioned and challenged, even years after becoming Commander. The mishap at her Conclave, the unusual and much disputed way with which she came by her throne, still haunted her not only in the form of seven dead children, but as the much more potent threat of mistrust, of whispered words, of coups and conspiracies. There were those who would tear her down, put another on her place. She needed someone who would back her up, someone she could discuss the matters of ruling with as an equal, someone she could trust even with her very life.

And it struck her like lightning. There was no better suited person in all the thirteen clans to bear the flame with her. _Clarke._  She trusted her more than any other living person. Clarke was her equal in every way Like her, Clarke bore the burden of leadership not by her own choice but by being chosen whether by blood or circumstance. She understood the sacrifices of protection, the impossible choices of ruling. When they stood on different sides of a battle line, this brought them clashing against each other in hostility, in negotiations and arguments, in painful choices where their hearts had to be buried so that they barely remembered how to feel. But if they were to stand on the same side, united – they would leave not war but peace in their wake, not destruction but prosperity. Clarke was the passion to her rationality, the hot-headedness to her cold-heartedness, the healer to her warrior. The Flamekeeper to her Commander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is (a lot) later than promised, and I'm sorry. I had the next couple of chapters written, but right before uploading I feel like there's something missing in the middle, a need to bridge the gap between now and the next time we see Lexa. Hence this quickly-written filler chapter where Lexa comes to her revelation that Clarke is her partner in every way.
> 
> The next chapter is written up and it's super long, to make up for the long waits. It will hopefully be up in a couple of weeks.


	12. Chapter 12

At two minutes before six, the sky above Arkadia was brightening in hues of pink and orange. Indigo turned to the palest of blues, and then to gentle washes of cotton candy pink, and finally settling on a delicate blue barely a shade above lilac. Birds twittered to each other in the nearby trees, not bursting into song but quietly whistling, as though they dared not shatter the peace of the dawn. A fine mist clung to every wooden branch of the forest and metal link of the camp.

The camp was devoid of activity, except the pair of guards who stood at the south-facing gate in the fence, drowsy after their night-long vigil, their eyes, though looking forward into the still, mist-tangled woods, no doubt envisioning their beds. 

And then the first explosion came and the serenity was blown up in a spectacular _BOOM_  that came from the western side of the camp.

The guards jolted awake. They exchanged a quick glance – frantic as though the disturbance was their fault – and in tacit agreement one of them stayed at his post while the other ran to investigate, armed with his rifle.

He had not been gone for two minutes when the next explosion came. This time it was from the northern end of the compound. The guard spoke into his radio, "Is anyone checking that out?"

There was no reply but static. He tried again. "This is Jonas at the gate. Do I need to go check that out?"

Again he was met with crackling static over the radio. He looked out at the forest, still as peaceful as it had been not ten minutes ago, nothing stirring except for what the morning breeze touched.

A group of guards emerged from the main building, wearing bullet proof vests and armed with a range of firearms. "What's going on?" he asked.

"We don't know,” came the curt answer from Marlow, their captain. Her gray eyes were hard and emotionless. "Small explosion at the northern end of the camp. Stay at your post, soldier. We'll find out what's going on."

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted and stood, back straight, staring at the never-still, never-changing woods.

Marlow continued on her way with her team. Part of the gate and the building at the northern end of the camp was damaged, some of the grass still simmering with fire, the silver side of the Ark burnt black and dented in places. The fence was intact, even though parts of the chain link fence smoked and glowed like burning coals. Her men searched the area and she surveyed the damage. It must have been a small bomb, the damage wasn’t too extensive.

One of her men came up to her. "No one was in the vicinity of the explosion, ma'am," he reported. "No injuries.”

That was good news, at least. ”And the damage?"

"Doesn't seem to be serious," he answered. "The fence could be weakened but we'll need the engineers to do a proper damage assessment."

She nodded briefly. "Lucky," she remarked. "Get someone here to do that as soon as possible."

"Yes ma'am," he said and spoke into his radio, "This is Andrews at the north end, we need damage assessment at the fence." Static sparked over the radio. His brow furrowed and he held the radio to his mouth again. "This is Andrews at the north end, does anyone copy?" He turned to Marlowe. "Ma'am, the radio seems to be down."

Her face darkened and foreboding pricked at her skin. She had been a guard for twenty years, and had developed a keen sixth sense – and right now it was tingling. Something was going on, and she didn't like it. "Go and get –"  _BOOM!_ Another explosion cut her off mid sentence. Marlow stiffened and turned towards the source.

"Run back to base and get the engineers out here for a damage report and to fix the fence," she ordered briskly. "You –" she addressed another guard, "stay here. Everyone else – follow me."

The remaining guards fell into step behind her as she marched towards the source of the next explosion, which was several meters to the west of the northern one. She could see almost at once that it was an explosion of a similar magnitude – the same smoldering fence, blackened exterior of the Ark, and no casualties or injuries. This was adding up to something, but she couldn't see what.

* * *

The third explosion was her cue. Clarke slipped unnoticed from an air vent in the wall and stepped onto the mist-damp earth to the east of the Ark. The dawn was well on its way, the sun's golden rays dissipated the mist, and she stood on the wooden stage in the center of the empty clearing. The stage from which Chancellors delivered their speeches, earned their followers, and encouraged their people.

Raven and Monty's series of explosions at the opposite end of the camp – large enough to be noticed, small enough to not cause any real damage – would distract the guards long enough for her to begin. She could only hope that she had enough time to make her people see sense before the guards were aware of her presence.

Led by Jasper and Monroe, the first of the Arkadians emerged, grumbling about the earlier hour as they stepped into the dawn. But their complaints died on their lips when they saw Clarke standing on the stage, with braids and leather boots like a Grounder, clothes as Ark-made as their own, and golden sunlight woven into her hair. The mutterings changed from complaints to half-excited whispers that _this was Clarke Griffin, leader of the Hundred, the one who left them to live with the Grounders, the girl Chancellor Pike hated so much he ordered her to be taken alive or dead._ And here she was, standing in their midst like an apparition that came as silently as the morning mist, but as the mist faded she in turn became more solid and real. There was trepidation and excitement, fear and hope, and the air hummed with anticipation like a finely tuned violin string.

Clarke looked down at the people, _her_ people, gathered below her. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel daunted before, but at the moment the anxiety in her stomach twisted. These people were here to listen to her, drawn whether by half-lies or half-truths or simply the allure of her name she didn’t know, but she was fully aware, even as they looked up in bewilderment and awe, that she was at their mercy – it only took one of them to run off in the direction of the guards and she would be dragged from the stage and thrown into a cell. They still could, at any moment, decide she was no more than a girl of eighteen, her hold over them would fail and everything would be over with her execution. 

But she’d known the risks, had known them when she argued with Lexa, had known them as she’d kissed her worries away, had known as she gave her sleeping lover a kiss in place of a goodbye. She had known that with every step past the blockade she was a wanted criminal, had known that every whisper exchanged with Abby and Raven and Monty and Jasper and anyone else who would help her was endangering them, too. But she still had to do it. It was for them – for her friends and her mother and every Arkadian who fell from the sky to the earth. It was for them, and it was for Lexa, who’s striven too hard, given up too much, towards this Coalition for it to be broken for the sake of Clarke. It was for delivering to the Commander the gift of peace, and to her lover the hope of a future together.

She took a deep breath, and when she spoke her voice was steady as the Commander’s. "People of Arkadia!” Her voice rang in the still dawn air. "Since we landed on the ground, we have seen too much war and bloodshed. First against the Grounders, and then Mount Weather. We did what we had to, to protect our people, and to live in peace. We’ve struck a truce with the Grounders, and put an end to this war. But then, under Pike's leadership, we turned on our allies and slaughtered them.” 

There were some murmurings amongst her audience, which gave Clarke a sense of foreboding; she didn’t know how many, or all, of those listening were Pike’s supporters. So she hurried on. "What we want is peace. Who doesn't want this war to stop? How many of us have lost fathers, daughters, friends, lovers, to it? And the Grounders have lost people too – mothers and sons, brothers and sisters. People who are loved and have lives, families. How many of those deaths, on our side or theirs, are deserved?

"We can end this war right now. They're willing to make peace, to forgive us for those we have killed if we can forgive them for the ones who fell fighting them. We can stop any more blood from being spilled before there is none left to spill.” She let them consider the weight of those words, and offered them the solution: "We hand over Pike.” There were some sharp intakes of breath, but no one said a word or moved. No one called her traitor, or shouted for a guard. Clarke took this as a promising sign and continued, as they hung on to her words, "Let his death be the last one, the one that will end this war. Remember Finn?” As she said his name Clarke met, by pure accident or perhaps subconsciousness, Raven’s gaze at the back of the crowd, eyes glistening with unspilled tears. Clarke’s own eyes pricked but she continued nonetheless. "A boy, one of the original Hundred, who killed eighteen Grounders. He had the courage to do what was right – he turned himself over to the Grounders, to stop a war. Pike clearly lacks the courage to do what he must for peace."

"STOP HER!” The shout rang out like a gunshot and everything seemed to stop. Clarke froze. The eyes that were fixated on her turned around – to see Pike marching out of the building, an accusatory finger aimed at Clarke. He was flanked by four, all armed and wearing protective gear. “She’s a wanted criminal and traitor! Get her off there!"

It was all over.Dread sank Clarke, colder than the morning mist and the rain of the previous days. They would pull her off the stage, put her in the holding cells. The next time she stepped foot outside would be for her execution. Or they would kill her in secret, in the darkness of the prison, as airless as the Ark had been. Lexa would have to live with yet another lover who was killed, and she would be forced to choose between forgiving her lover’s killers and declaring war on Skaikru, breaking her long sought-for peace. It would all be over.

But the guards were not storming the stage, and as Clarke turned to them in shock she realized that amongst them were Bellamy and Miller. They were stalling for her. Hope flooded her as suddenly as dread did, this time lifting her up instead of drowning her.  “And now,” she continued as though the interruption hadn’t happened, “as Pike clearly can’t make this decision, we have to make the hard call Finn did. Turn over Pike, and finish the path Finn started us on, the path Kane and the Commander have paved before you. The path to peace."

The crowd was muttering amongst themselves, and Clarke saw more than a few nods. Hope flared within her, bright as the rising sun behind her.

"She's a criminal!" Pike shouted above the hundreds of murmuring voices. "Take her and put her in lockup!"

“The choice is yours, Arkadians,” Clarke said. “Do we want to live peacefully on the ground, sharing it with those who were here before us, or do we want to enter a war with them that will decimate us? Don’t let Pike decide for you. Choose for yourselves – and choose wisely.” With those final words, Clarke descended from the stage. Two of the guards charged at her but Bellamy and Miller each grabbed one. Their firearms were wrestled from them and the four men struggled on the dew-wet grass. Pike himself marched towards Clarke, “betrayer” and “Grounder” falling from his mouth half-coherently – but the crowd formed a protective barrier around her.

“You’re not getting her, asshole,” Raven snarled.

“Clarke’s right,” one of the Arkadians said. “We’re tired of fighting. My brother was killed, I don’t want to lose my husband too."

“We want a way out of this war,” another man said. “And if that means a truce with the Grounders, that’s fine by me.” A few “yeah”s echoed after him.

“You’re not fit to be Chancellor!” Someone behind Clarke cried.

“I say we hand him over!” Octavia yelled, looking more Grounder than Arker with her braids, leather clothes, and sword by her hip. “Who’s with me?” A strong chorus of “I’m in!” and “Yeah!” met her words. The Arkadians moved not as a single entity but as a swarm – tripping over each other, fumbling hands reaching and grabbing with little grace or skill, but united and fueled by their anger towards Pike. Clarke watched, hardly daring to believe her eyes, as they bound and gagged Pike with only the frenzy of a maddened crowd. And she was even more amazed when they all turned to her, clearly awaiting her orders.

“We take him to the blockade,” she said. “He’ll be taken to Polis as a peace offering to the Commander.” She let out a breath, of relief she realized, and looked over the people, _her_ people, and was filled with optimism for the future. “Our peace begins with his death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be traveling for the next couple of weeks, so here's a long chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

The slowly expanding pools of blood were almost black in the moonlight. The assassin wiped his blade on the shirt of one of the two guards who had died at their post. Avoiding the blood that spilled from their bodies, he stepped past them and into the Commander’s room. He laid his feet softly on the tiled floor, each step as deliberate as a cat’s when it hunts its prey. He noticed the Commander’s cape that hung from a hook next to the door. Red as fresh-spilled blood.

A latticed screen sectioned off half the room. Through the gaps in the woodwork the assassin saw a large bed, and a mound in it that could only be the sleeping Commander. He took his time in quietly making his way to the edge of the room and around the screen. Once he passed it he found that the floor was covered with thick, soft furs. They muffled his footsteps and he was now truly silent.

The mound of furs in the bed rose and fell with each even breath the Commander took. Breaths that would soon be silenced. The assassin could allow no mistakes; he rounded to the other side of the bed to make sure that this was indeed the Commander and not some decoy. Silver light slanted off her features, serene in sleep – a high forehead, a straight nose, long lashes, full lips. A pale arm extended from the covers and hugged the pillow next to her. It was Lexa kom Trikru, the girl that was to die tonight.

His blade threw the moonlight in a silver arc and plunged towards Lexa’s chest – and stabbed through her pillow. He looked up in confusion to meet a pair of green eyes round as the moon. He overcame his surprise. He would finish the job even if it didn’t go as planned. He swung his heavy machete at her and she blocked the blow with the only thing within reach – her other pillow. The blade sliced clean through it in a flurry of feathers, revealing the hardened face of the Commander. Gone was the peacefully slumbering girl, in her place a fierce warrior, a knife in her hand, slender as her arm and wickedly sharp. She parried his attacks blow for blow, blocking each heavy swing of his machete with more strength and stamina than he thought her slight body contained. But she was always on the defense, he was too good for her to turn the fight around and attack. She blocked a blow from his knife and instead of swinging again he pressed down hard on her, watching with a curl of his lips how her arm started to tremble. He had her, her strength was faltering. But she slipped out from under his blade, tossing the covers at him and rolling off the opposite side of the bed in the same swift motion.

The furs tangled around his knife and arm and covered his face, and it took him precious seconds to tear and hack off the thick covering. Just in time to see the dagger that hurtled at his face. He barely managed to dodge it and it drew a line of red across his cheek. Had he been half a heartbeat slower it would have embedded in his skull rather than the wall behind him. He looked back at Lexa to see her next blade already in the air and a third one in her hand. He spun out of way of the second one, but the third nicked his ear and left a splatter of blood on the floor.

“Who are you?” the Commander demanded in a snarl. She was on the other side of the bed, still gripping her curved dagger. Somehow, even with her face bare of warpaint, her hair down, and wearing nothing but a thin nightgown that was anything but protective, she managed to look intimidating and ferocious.

But the assassin was not threatened. Instead of replying, he feinted a move around the bed just to see her jump backwards. Her nervousness made his lips part in the smile of a cat playing with a mouse. 

“Who sent you?” she repeated sharply. “Who wants me dead?"

“Anyone who can see you’re an impostor,” he answered and her eyes widened slightly, her defensive stance faltering for a second – and that was all  the distraction he needed. He lunged across the bed, his machete swinging savagely at her stomach. Slice her open and watch – her blade stabbed into his temple.

Blood dripped down the knife, leaking into the cracks between Lexa’s fingers. Drip, drip, dripping onto the white furs on the ground, like the final, lazy drops of rainwater that slid off roofs after a summer shower. Lexa let go of the hilt and backed up, her trembling palm red. The body slumped forward, head bowed, the drip of blood somehow steady as a heartbeat. Too close, she thought. She was unsettled, not by the attempt on her life but by how close they had come to succeeding in taking it. “Guards!” Her shout was half-hearted. She knew that the guards outside her door must be dead. There was no other way the assassin could have gotten into her room.

She slumped to her knees on the soft furs, yet unstained. At this lower eye-level, her wavering green eyes met the glassy ones of the dead man straight ahead. _Imposter_. That was what he had said to her. The word struck her deeper than any blade could. Was it a meaningless taunt, something said to unsettle and distract her from the fight – and how did he know it would shake her up? Or was it sincerely meant, and if it was… then the threat of her unorthodox claim to her position had taken form, and this was merely the tip of the long shadow it cast. Something to be taken advantage of by those who wished to tear her from her throne – and there were plenty of men and women in the twelve clans who had reason to. Even though this time the assassin didn’t succeed, whoever was behind this would try again. It threatened not only her position and safety, but also that of anyone she cared about.

She had foolishly made that mistake once. “It’s dangerous, being mine,” she had said, but the dark-skinned girl merely shook her head and said “I don’t care.” Lexa had let her, had been drunk on the feeling of their fingers laced together, of lying side by side, of having someone to come home to, and it had ended with the head of the girl she loved in a box. Lexa would not let that happen again. 

_You are mine, Clarke kom Skaikru, and I swear, on my life, that I will keep you safe. I will die before I let any man or woman hurt you again because of me._ A vow taken in a moment of refuge, a pocket of quietude between lovers. The dead man in her bed, with the steady, heartbeat-like drip of his blood, seemed to be mocking her. There was nothing she could do to protect the woman she loved. If Clarke had been here in her bed tonight, instead of far away in Arkadia, Lexa was sure that they would both be dead. She would protect her lover to her last breath, of course, but she barely saved herself; could she have saved Clarke, too? Even if Clarke wasn’t killed, she could be used against Lexa, kidnapped or tortured or… the image of Costia, beheaded, flickered before Lexa’s vision and she closed her eyes to block it out, only to sharpen its lines and make vivid its colors.

_To be commander is to be alone_. It was the curse of ruling, something Lexa was always taught but had forgotten in the recent haze of happiness with Clarke. She first learned it when she opened a gift to find her lover’s head staring at her with lifeless eyes. Then, the weight of it had drowned her heart. Now, the knowledge was driven deep into her very bones. She had gotten complacent, lulled into an illusion of safety. Titus’s imprisonment, all the clans settling into the Coalition, her relationship with Clarke, had brought a relative peace, a sort of equilibrium. But it was no more than that – an illusion. She was the Commander, and war was her life. She would not, _could_ not, ever step back from the fight. She thought that she could, with Clarke, but now she knew with clarity that that put her lover in danger. 

_Not again._ She renewed her vow with the vehemence only the most determined and protective of lovers could possess. _Not Clarke. I will protect her with my life._ And that did not mean dying, but parting with the one person who could keep her human. The only one who reminded her that life was about more than surviving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for disappearing! Here's an extra good chapter (at least I think so) to make up for my long absence.


	14. Chapter 14

It was noon, but the sky was beginning to turn overcast with a thin layer of cloud. The sun was obscured by a dusty haze that only made its light harsher. Five figures moved through the tall grass and up the hill, silhouetted against the gray-white sky. They traveled on foot, four of them in a circle around the fifth. Clarke and Octavia headed the group. The wind sliced down the hillside, sharp as a scythe. It twisted in their hair and tried to tear strands from their tight braids. Behind them, in the centre of the group, was Pike – wrists bound tight and ankles bound loose, eyes downcast and his expression stormier than the sky abovehead as he shuffled forward. Taking up the rear were Bellamy and Jasper, both armed with pistols pointed at Pike’s back. 

They climbed to the crest of the hill, and blockade lay before them on the other side. A scattering of tents, dotted with horses and warriors from the twelve clans. Halfway down the hill, a figure climbed up from the blockade. He was on foot, and he pushed aside the waist-high grass as he ascended the hill. He was a Grounder; that much was clear from the way his light brown hair was braided, the black ink under his sun-darkened skin, and the sword he carried on his back. He raised a hand in greeting, and Clarke called, “Kylos!" 

“You’re back sooner than I expected,” he told her when the group met him halfway down the hill. “And with your prisoner too,” he added.

“You thought you didn’t expect me back at all,” she deadpanned. 

“No, I believed you could do it,” he answered in earnest. “Even if some of the others didn’t." 

His confidence was refreshing, if naive, and reassuring nonetheless. Clarke’s reply was a small, but grateful, smile of an unspoken “thank you.”

He fell into step next to her as they descended the hill, and she asked him, “Did Indra send you?" 

“A patrol spotted you on your way. I’m here to escort you to camp."

Clarke nodded. “Take us to her." 

They reached the entrance to the camp, where a pair of warriors stood guard. They greeted Kylos with a few words in Trigedasleng and he replied briefly, before escorting the group from Arkadia through the camp. In the clearing in the center of the camp, Indra stood tall, her chin tilted up in defiance, her arms crossed, her face impassive as marble. Kylos greeted the general and bowed his head slightly. “Messengers from Skaikru." 

“Indra,” Clarke spoke up, stepping forward. “This is Pike, offered to the Commander as a peace offering from Skaikru. Given as a gesture of goodwill. Whatever punishment Lexa decides on for his crimes can atone for all the wrongs he has led my people on." 

“Very good,” Indra said, and though her face remained expressionless, there was a hint of approval in her voice. “Octavia.” With a tilt of her head and eye contact, she addressed the other Skaikru girl. “Take the prisoner to Polis tomorrow. I’ll assign a guard for you. You leave at first light." 

“ _Sha_ ,” Octavia answered. 

“Wait!” Clarke snapped. “I’m going back to Polis. I’m the ambassador, Lexa –"

“Lexa,” As Indra said the Commander’s name, she met Clarke’s eyes with cold brown ones in a way that suggested she knew more than she voiced, especially about Clarke and Lexa’s relationship, “has given clear orders that you are to remain in Arkadia until further notice." 

“What?” Clarke gasped, her chest suddenly tight, her heart beating so hard it felt like it would break through her sternum. She was seized with an ominous feeling, like the first rainclouds that gathered for a storm. “No, that can’t be right…"

“Here.” Indra’s voice was a fraction kinder. She extended an arm to give Clarke a folded note. “This is for you." 

Clarke all but snatched the piece of parchment from Indra’s fingers. It was folded in a way so that it could not be opened without tearing slightly – a clever way of keeping it from unwanted eyes – and almost tore it in half in her haste to open it. She spread the note out with trembling fingers and read the few painfully brief lines. When she finished there was lightning in her eyes, and under her skin was the tightly coiled tension of a storm ready to be unleashed upon the shore.

“I’m going to Polis straight away,” she said, the rumble of thunder underlying her voice. “Bellamy and Jasper, go back to Arkadia.” Meeting the dozens of silent questions in the others’ eyes, she said, “Lexa’s in danger." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry this took so long, and that it's so short. The next one will be the one we're all waiting for, I promise!


	15. Chapter 15

Lexa was in the middle of another long-winded council meeting, where she was reminded rather gleefully by the ambassador of the Broadleaf and Desert Clans that it was the third and last day given to Skaikru to take out their leader. She was glad of the distraction when a messenger came into the throne room. The boy, his voice not yet deepened, announced that a party from Skaikru has returned to Polis. Relief washed over Lexa like a wave dousing a fire. _You did it, Clarke. You saved your people, and perhaps my throne too._ “Send them up,” she told the messenger boy. 

She sat back in her throne. This was the first good news she had received in days, the first piece of proof she had to the naysayers who claimed that Skaikru would go back on their promise and back out of the Coalition. Her chest warmed with pride towards Clarke for achieving the impossible, and just within a time limit she was unaware of, too. The feeling was tempered only by the sour regret of knowing that Clarke would not be amongst those returning to Polis, that she would not soon be wrapped in Lexa’s arms and that her ears would not hear her words of how pleased she was and promises that she would never let her go. Her orders were for Clarke to remain at Arkadia; this momentary separation was a small price to pay for her lover’s safety, she told herself. So that Clarke wouldn’t be another Costia. One more life lost on her behalf.

The double doors at the far end of the hall opened, and the determined face at the front of the party, framed by dirty, travel-grim blonde hair, was none other than Clarke’s. Lexa was at her feet in an instant, gladness and anger warring within her. Behind Clarke was Octavia, and taking up the rear was a man, dressed in Skaikru clothes, his wrists bound tightly in front of him, glaring at the dozen Grounders around him, the eyes over his gagged mouth bright with hostility. The trio from Skaikru made their way down the throne room, and stopped before the dais. Lexa looked down at them, eyes gleaming green through black warpaint. Clarke pulled the prisoner in front of her and shoved him down on his knees before the Commander. 

“Peace offering from Skaikru.” Clarke's voice reverberated in the hall.  

The air hummed with anticipation. Holding its breath as though between a sudden flash of lightning and the ensuing rumble of thunder. Tense as a bowstring after the archer takes a breath and before the arrow flies. Lexa tilted her chin up, feeling two dozen eyes watching her, a dozen breaths held waiting for her. When she spoke, her voice was dispassionate. “This is your leader?" 

“ _Was_ ” Clarke corrected. “He’s been overthrown and Kane’s been elected as Chancellor. To show our repentance, we give you Pike, the man responsible for what’s happened in Skaikru recently. We ask that you punish him according to the laws of your people, on behalf of those who acted under his leadership.” She paused, took a breath, and looked Lexa in the eyes. An ambassador to her Commander, and from leader to leader. “Do you accept our offering?" 

Lexa dipped her head once. “I do. He is guilty for treason against the Coalition and his Commander, and will be executed tomorrow. With his death, those who acted under his orders are pardoned, and Skaikru is welcomed back into the Coalition." 

At this murmurings of discontent were traded between the rest of the warriors. Lexa’s eyes narrowed. The ambassador from Delfikru spoke up. “Commander, are we to accept the Sky People back amongst us with open arms? After they slaughtered our people, our brothers and sisters? Even if their leader would bring them under the Coalition, there will be another, in time, who will refuse to be ruled by us, and he will lead their people against you. These people came from the sky, they’re as different to us as the Mountain Men, and perhaps even more dangerous." 

“There is greater strength in mercy than in slaughter,” Lexa replied. “That is how we teach our children, and that is how a Commander should lead. The Coalition is greater than the borders between clans. There are amongst us clans that were at war, and have I not accepted them into the Coalition? Did I not allowed Azgeda a place in my council room, Conan?" 

“ _Sha, Heda_. And Azgeda thanks you.” The Ice Nation ambassador bowed his head. 

“And you have been nothing but trustworthy allies.” Lexa granted him a brief smile. "Skaikru are different to us, it is true,” she acknowledged, “But are we not all different from one another?” Her gaze swept over the room, meeting each man and woman in turn. To the ambassador who spoke she said,“Amos, the ways of Delfikru are a mystery to the rest of us. Florei, your people in the Glowing Forest follow laws older than any of our grandparents remember,” she said to a willowy ambassador with dark curls and an unlined brown face. And I am certain that Floukru and Sankru share more differences than similarities.” She addressed her entire audience. “We are all different, that is where our strength lies. In adding Skaikru to our Coalition, we show them acceptance and mercy. We show them our strength, and they will add theirs to it."

The whispers in the room now rippled with an air of approval, punctuated by nods. “I trust then that you are satisfied?” Lexa’s lips turned up the slightest degree, countering the severity of her black-painted eyes. “Good. Then take the prisoner to the cells“ – she gestured to the pair of guards at the door – “he will be executed at midday tomorrow.”

Pike was hauled to his feet, awkwardly because of his bound ankles. When he turned his sullen eyes on Clarke they suddenly leapt like flames and he charged at her. He barreled into her and they both fell, him on top of her, and his weight crushed her for a second before the guards pulled him away. But he had managed to get his gag off and was shouting, “Bitch! I could have won this war for us, I could have avenged our people! And you, you betrayed us, sold your own people out to these savages!" 

Clarke pushed off Octavia’s offered hand and got to her feet by herself. She grabbed the front of Pike shirt and snarled, her face an inch away from his, “The only betrayer here is you. We’ve bled enough, but all you wanted was war. You killed our allies, sent to help us, just to start that war. You ruined the peace we built.” Her eyes were hard and merciless as an axe. “At least no one else will have to die for your crimes.” She released the front of his shirt and stepped back. “Take him away,” she said to the guards. They marched him out of the hall, and as the doors clanged shut behind them Clarke turned back to Lexa. Blue eyes met green, and an understanding passed between them, from one leader to another. Clarke’s head dipped and rose slightly in a nod –   _it’s done._

Lexa’s eyes were still on Clarke when she raised both hands. “Leave us.” As the warriors filed out of the room, Octavia squeezed Clarke’s arm. Clarke nodded reassuringly, and the younger girl let go, following the rest of the warriors. 

The door shut behind them, and they were alone.

Neither woman moved. Not Clarke standing before the throne, not Lexa high on the dais. Clarke had parted with a sleeping Lexa, soft as the sheets that covered her, so serene that Clarke wished she could capture the moment forever in charcoal. But it was a fierce warrior who looked down at Clarke in place of her tender lover. Lexa the Commander stood regal in her armor, the sash that tumbled from one shoulder red as the blood of her enemies, the warpaint streaked across her eyes black as the blood of her body.. The moment suspended, infinite, like the first second of an Earth-rise. 

Then Clarke moved towards the dais – “Lexa” – the same second Lexa growled, “How dare you disobey me?” Clarke was stared open-mouthed, as Lexa stalked down the steps. “I ordered you to stay in Arkadia, and yet here you are." 

Clarke’s eyes narrowed, her brow pulled down, and she stepped right up until her nose was inches away from Lexa’s. A challenge blazed in her blue eyes. “Did you honestly think that I would leave when you’re in danger?”

Lexa’s stern countenance wavered, respect and admiration softening the anger. “No, you’re far too stubborn for that.” It was said in grudging fondness and Clarke held back a smile of relief. She left Lexa after making up for their last fight, she didn’t intend to return to another one. The fiery anger had disappeared from Lexa’s eyes, in their place a bittersweet adoration. “I couldn’t keep you here when I wanted you to,” her voice trembled almost as much as the shimmering in her eyes, "and I can’t make you stay away when I need you to." 

The words reached deep within Clarke, wrapping around her heart. She didn’t have the words to say how she felt, so instead she reached for Lexa’s hand and pulled her closer, close enough to kiss. Lexa’s eyes lowered to their intertwined fingers, squeezing Clarke’s hand with the slightest pressure as though to assure herself that the other girl was physically there. Her lower lip was quivering and Clarke wanted nothing more than to take it between her own, kissing her fears and sadness away. Lexa raised glistening eyes to Clarke’s. “I missed you,” she whispered, her voice husky with the unspoken words carried in the three simple ones she chose to give voice to. 

“I missed you too,” Clarke returned, finding solace in saying it out loud, in letting her guard down, in not having to pretend that Lexa wasn’t her world. She leaned in – hesitated before they kissed because she was still half convinced that Lexa would pull back but she didn’t – and their lips met with the tenderness of reunion and the urgency of separation. As their lips locked and fingers fit between each other’s, the world around them seemed to echo their sighs of relief, subtly falling back into place. The ache in Clarke’s chest eased with each beat of the heart Lexa held in her hands, and then it was gone and she could breathe. She was home. 


	16. Chapter 16

Clarke came repeating Lexa’s name like a prayer. Lexa rolled off her lover to lie next to her, tucking Clarke’s body against her own protectively. Clarke rested her head against Lexa’s shoulder and Lexa pushed back her hair – dirty again – to kiss her forehead. “You’re so beautiful _._ " 

Clarke’s smile was catlike and lazy. She cupped Lexa’s cheek to angle her face to kiss her. “Now let me take care of you,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. It tore at her still healing wound and she winced. 

Lexa immediately sat up to push her back down. “No,” she said firmly. 

“Fine.” Clarke rolled her eyes. “At least come back and cuddle with me."

Lexa smiled at her like she put the stars in her sky, and leaned over Clarke to kiss her. Her long hair, unbraided, fell around them and Clarke tucked the silky strands behind her ears as their lips met. They kissed languidly, enjoying the newfound luxury of time. Time that was granted to them under the stars, until dawn came, petal-pink under the steel-grey sky. Clarke’s hand crept from Lexa’s jaw down her throat, to cup a breast and tease it with her fingers. Lexa gave a little gasp and Clarke murmured, “just say the word…" 

“No.” Lexa insistented even though her pupils were wide with desire. “No, _ai hodness_ , you need to rest.” She took Clarke’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks." 

Clarke sat up, leaning forward to kiss Lexa again, this time gently. “For both of us,” she murmured, nudging Lexa’s nose with her own. “But that’s over now." 

“And we have the rest of our lives,” Lexa finished, half-afraid, even though it was irrational, that Clarke would push her off and say that she was nothing more than a fling, a temporary distraction. 

However, Clarke’s smile only widened. “The rest of our lives,” she promised. “But right now…” She bit her lip coyly and the objection started rising in Lexa’s throat, her mouth opened to protest. “I’m hungry,” she finished, her grin turning mischievous, to which Lexa rolled her eyes. “Come on, it’s your fault for tiring me out,” she pointed out. “Besides, you can’t tell me _you’re_ not tired after that." 

Lexa sighed in defeat, though her eyes glimmered with adoration. “I could use some food,” she admitted.

“Good.” Clarke grinned in triumph. She shifted off the bed. “I’m going to tell them – " 

“No!” Lexa cut her off sharply. Clarke froze and looked up in surprise, just in time to see the spark of panic fade from Lexa’s eyes. She took a deep breath and gestured at the bed, the minor tremor in her voice the only clue as to her outburst. “Wait here for me,” she said quietly. Clarke hesitated, but she recognized the plea simmering behind the too-calm tone and was afraid to disagree. So she nodded, climbing back into bed. Only then did Lexa let out a breath, her posture almost relaxing as she bent to peck her on the lips. “I’ll be right back." 

She pulled on a robe over her naked body and disappeared behind the screen that separated her sleeping area from the rest of her room. Clarke heard the door open, Lexa’s quiet command to the guard to send for food from the kitchen, and the sound of the door shutting. Lexa was back in a moment, but didn’t remove her robe. She walked back and forth across the length of the room, wringing her hands, looking at everywhere but Clarke’s eyes. Her distress unsettled Clarke with how helpless it made her feel. She wanted nothing more than to hold Lexa until she whatever fear lurked in the shadows of her green eyes disappeared, but something about the way Lexa paced the room like a captured wild animal daunted Clarke, and she didn’t dare to touch or even speak to Lexa. 

Then there was a knock on the door and Lexa answered it immediately. A quick “ _mochof_ " and it clicked shut. Lexa reappeared from behind the screen with a platter of bread, cheese and fruit. Clarke took it from her and set it on the bed. Only then did Lexa return, sitting on top of the furs across from Clarke with her legs crossed and her back straight, the robe closed over her chest but revealing her collarbone and neck and breastbone. She looked haunted and vulnerable, like she was expecting enemies to be hidden in every shadow of the room. Hesitant, half-convinced that she would shy away like a frightened horse, Clarke covered Lexa’s hand with her own.  Lexa stiffened – but relaxed again when she looked up at Clarke. She clutched Clarke tight against her, eyes filled with anguish. Clarke put her arms around Lexa, stroking her back soothingly, unable to find the words to comfort her. 

Lexa’s breath brushed past Clarke’s ear. “I can’t let anything happen to you,” she said, her voice clear as a pool, but with a timbre like a shadow in its bottom. “Not because of me.” She sighed and her breath stroked Clarke’s neck, soft as a kiss, and she said in a whisper so light it wasn’t meant to be heard, “Not you too.”

The overheard words sent a tingle down Clarke’s spine. Suddenly Lexa’s agitation made sense. She had already lost Costia to her enemies because of who she was and because of their relationship; there was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep Clarke from meeting the same fate. Being shot was already too close a call. She felt Lexa’s with a twist in her stomach that had nothing to do with her wound, and she tightened her embrace. “Hey, it’s okay,” she said. “I’m safe.” She pulled back and framed Lexa’s face with her hands. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I promise." 

But Lexa sighed, taking one of Clarke’s hands between hers and twining their fingers together. “Neither you nor I can promise that,” she said gravely. "I didn’t tell you everything in my letter,” she admitted, and Clarke’s eyes widened in surprise but she didn’t interrupt. “The assassination attempt – it was here. In my room, in my _bed_.” Her green eyes were filled with anguish again, not lurking but floating on the surface. “Being with me puts you in danger. Which is why I can’t let anyone know that you’re mine, I can’t take that risk.” Her eyes pled for Clarke to understand. And it all did – the secrecy, the sneaking around. Not letting anyone know Clarke was here in the middle of the night. The room prepared for her down the hallway. 

Clarke nodded but all she could think about was Lexa alone in this bed, the assassin creeping closer, a blade across that slender throat, black blood splashing everywhere. Staining the white furs on the bed. The very robe that hung off her now, white as the candles, turning black with blood. She repressed that feeling with what was in front of her – the girl she loved, warm and alive, shimmering candlelight bringing out the gold specks in her green eyes. She took a deep breath, squeezing the hand, palpable against her palm, to remind herself that Lexa was _here_ , in corporeal form, uninjured and safe and beautiful and protective as she always was. “That’s why you wanted me to stay in Arkadia,” she said calmly. “To keep me safe."

Lexa nodded. “At least you would be safe there. Even if I _would_ miss you terribly,” she admitted almost shyly.

The corner of Clarke’s lip turned up in a smirk. She traced along the blue veins on the delicate inside of Lexa’s wrist, her steady doctor’s hands betraying no tremor. “So would I,” she said. Raising her eyes to Lexa’s face, their eyes met and both were struck with the realization that somehow, despite all odds, they were here together tonight, both alive and safe. Clarke let out a laugh and Lexa echoed it not a second later, and their fingers tangled as their lips met in the middle.

“We have till morning.” Clarke’s smile pulled into a smirk. “And I have a few ideas what we can do till then." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I would update soon, so I'm sorry about this. Some personal and school stuff came up.  
> This is the end of Part II of this story, so I'm unfortunately going on a brief hiatus. I have the next couple of chapters written so I PROMISE I'll continue this fic. But right now it's finals and I'm dealing with some personal/relationship stuff in my life on top of that. So this is a natural, fluffy way to take a break. I'll be back in January hopefully!


	17. Chapter 17

The underground chamber was lit by a dozen candles, each in its own pool of wax. Shay, the young apprentice healer, showed the Commander to the body. Lexa hesitated before the rough cloth that covered it, her face still as the aftermath of a storm. Then the sheet rippled through the air with a grace almost too elegant for its coarse material and uncovered the face of the assassin. Lexa's eyes were as cold as the lingering frost in early spring as she regarded the man who had tried to kill her three nights ago. She betrayed no trace of the feelings that lurked behind her features – if any feelings lurked beneath that stony exterior at all. 

The assassin was a warrior in his prime. The beard on his jaw close-trimmed. The muscles on his neck and chest decorated by bold tattoos. Although his face had started to discolor and disfigure with death-rot, the scars that ran from his temples to under his beard, purposely carved in the years before he grew so much as peach fuzz, were unmistakable. The marks of Azgeda. 

Lexa's eyes narrowed into jade slits, but whatever emotion she felt was not betrayed by her voice, even as the most windless of summer days. "Thank you, Shay. That will be all." 

" _Sha, Heda_ ," came the girl's softspoken reply. Lexa stalked towards the wooden steps, climbing them to return aboveground. She emerged into the rich scent of a multitude of herbs, mingling in the air to a bittersweet blend, and the low hum of conversation. Clarke and Dala were at the table, a red clay bowl between them. Dala rested a brown forearm on the surface, relaxed. Clarke was leaning forward, her elbows on the rough wooden surface, back slightly curved, her eyes, blue as the summer sky in the airless hut, fixated on Dala and drinking in all she said. Lexa’s presence went, for now, unnoticed. She used the moment to observe the pair. 

“Now smell the leaves,” the older woman said in her husky voice. Clarke took some of the leaves on the table between her fingers and delivered them to her nose. Her face scrunched up and she crinkled her nose at the smell, and Lexa couldn’t help but chuckle. The sound brought both healers’ heads snapping in her direction. The focus left Clarke’s eyes, replaced by a light-hearted glimmer, and her lips went from a firm line to an unconscious smile. Lexa’s own smile widened, her shoulders relaxing as she ascended the last couple of steps. Without thinking, she laid a hand on Clarke’s shoulder, and Clarke’s found its place on the small of her back. 

To Dala, she said, the trace of a smile still on her lips, “Thank you." 

“You’re welcome,” Dala replied. “And the body?" 

“You can destroy it.” Lexa’s voice turned hard and the hand on Clarke’s shoulder tightened. “I’ve seen what I needed to.” Clarke’s eyes darted quickly to Lexa’s face, and it may have been a sudden draft but a shiver ran up her spine at how quickly the warmth drained from her face. Then the moment passed and it was once more the calm, collected Lexa who said, “We’ll be going now. We’ve intruded long enough." 

Clarke stood, setting the herb on the table. “ _Mochof_ ,” she thanked the healer. “For all this.” She gestured at the table and the herbs in their neat piles and bunches and jars. “I learned a lot." 

“Come back anytime you want,” Dala offered. “There’s more I can teach you." 

“I don’t doubt that.” Clarke’s smile had an eagerness Lexa had never seen before. She needed to speak to Clarke in private, but it could wait if it meant seeing her this happy.

“You can stay if you want,” she said, trying to keep the reluctance out of her voice, “And if Dala doesn’t mind,” she added to the older woman, who confirmed: “not at all." 

Clarke hesitated, her gaze shifting between her lover and the healer. She wanted to stay; there was only so much she was taught in Earth Skills on the Ark, even less when it came to herbs and medicine, and no Ark-born teacher could ever have the knowledge that came only with the accumulated experience of Grounder healers for almost a century. But at the same time she could sense an anxiety that underlay Lexa’s every word and gesture, an impatience to leave the hut. So she gave Dala an apologetic smile. “Can I come back another time?" 

“Not a problem,” the healer confirmed. There was a look of understanding in her dark eyes as they darted from Clarke to Lexa for a split second before returning to rest on Clarke, so quick that Clarke could have imagined it, and she was suddenly struck by the certainty that Dala knew more than she was willing to let on. 

But she voiced none of this, simply saying “thank you” again and leaving the hut with Lexa. They emerged into the afternoon sunlight, watery as the winter sun always was but bright with the promise of spring. Dala’s hut was one of a dozen that formed a ring, a courtyard just behind the Tower. The houses of healers, blacksmiths, guards. Right now, it was midday and busy. Young men heaved metal pieces or heavy sacks of grain and flour to and fro, apprentices bustled under the instructions of their masters. A dog was barking and the blacksmith’s hut tolled with the reverberating sound of metal on metal.

“You okay?” Clarke asked, taking her lover’s hand. 

Lexa’s smile was thin but she nodded.

Clarke huffed. “You sure?" 

“Yeah.” Lexa squeezed her hand before letting her own hand fall back to her side. “Take a walk in the woods with me. I need to talk to you."

* * *

“Ice Nation?” Clarke repeated. “Are you sure?” They stood on the top of a cliff overlooking the valley of Polis and the forest that surrounded it. The tower rose high above the huts and trees, at once a beacon and a symbol of the capital. The trees were mostly bare, but dotting naked branches here and there, like heralds of the warmth, were budding leaves. From their vantage point it looked like a layer of green downy feathers had grown over the forest in preparation of spring. The isolated calls of a few birds echoed faintly across the valley. The occasional squirrel darted across the ground in search of the last of its winter store of food. Other than that, they were alone.

Lexa nodded. Squared her jaw. “Those marks on his face…"

“Are you going to talk to Roan about this?” Clarke pushed.

“No." Lexa’s reply was sharp, but she softened her next words as she looked out over the valley that was the center of her realm. “I’ve only just secured Azgeda’s support, I can’t accuse them of planning to kill me. There isn't enough evidence. For all we know this could be the act of a lone man. It’s only my gut that tells me that it’s not." 

Clarke nodded in understanding, her brow creasing as she mulled over the new information. She stood side-by-side with Lexa, arms crossed over her chest as she too looked out over the valley. “Do you think it’s Roan?" 

“No,” Lexa replied immediately. “I might not trust him or his loyalty, but I trust that he’s smart enough to act in his self interest. He knows that he got his throne because of me, and without my support there’s no way he can keep it. At least half of Ice Nation would revolt against him if he tried claiming the throne on his own, if not out of loyalty to Queen Nia then out of obedience to their laws –he _was_ an outcast before, remember. The Azgeda take their laws very seriously." 

“Okay, so even if it _is_ Ice Nation, Roan’s not behind it,” Clarke concluded. “Could it still be a coup by Azgeda, though? Those loyal to Nia, like you said?" 

“Maybe.” Lexa shrugged. “We have no way of knowing right now, not until we figure out what they want.” She crossed her arms behind her back and turned to look at Clarke with eyes as green as the leaves that were yet to come. “We need to call a secret meeting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I'M BACK. I'm sorry for disappearing like that. School has been crazy this semester but it's all over now. And I think the world needs more Clexa. The world can never have enough Clexa. So here's a quick little chapter. I'll try to keep updates semi-regular...
> 
> Also. I wrote two short(ish) Clea fics (hint hint).


	18. Chapter 18

The room was in the basement of the building, a half-forgotten cellar furnished with a table, a few chairs, and assorted bits and pieces from bygone years – old tomes that looked as though they would turn to dust at the slightest touch, vaguely recognizable scientific instruments, and some dusty candles. Lexa had been pacing across the empty room ever since they entered. The red cape swirled about her feet in a crimson eddy and chased her every step like a loyal shadow. Clarke watched her with her arms crossed, motionless except for her eyes, which followed Lexa’s trail between the two opposite walls of the room. 

“Trying to go deeper underground?” she deadpanned.

Lexa halted abruptly and blinked at her, half self-consciousness, half indignation. “We just called a council meeting with the very few people we trust. I’m sorry if I’m a little anxious that they're late.” She resumed her pacing. "They should have been here by now!" 

"Give them a few more minutes," Clarke said, trying to hide her own unease. "This place isn't exactly easy to find." 

At this Lexa managed a half-smile, and Clarke continued, her voice a tad softer but still sharp-edged with purpose, “Actually, Lexa," she said, standing and taking the other girl's hand, "there's something I have to  –"

The wooden door opened with a shuddering scrape and cut Clarke off. She dropped Lexa's hand and took a step back, just as two men and a woman stepped through the door. The short, wiry woman led the way, followed by the dark-skinned warrior, and taking up the rear was Kylos’s familiar, friendly face. Symmetric tattoos framed the woman's copper cheeks, making her high cheekbones look even more defined. Her coal-black hair was braided in the elaborate style that spoke of status, half pinned around her head in a crown, the other falling pencil-straight down her back. Despite her short height she had an air of dignity that commanded respect. The man was younger, in his early thirties, tall and tanned. Something about his narrowed hazel eyes and narrow nose were familiar. He wore leather, and the baldric that looped across his broad chest from his shoulder to rest on the opposite hip was fashioned to carry a heavy sword. 

Clarke couldn’t shake the feeling that she had met him before, as though in another life. Could she have crossed swords with him back when she fought the Grounders? She was still wondering when Lexa introduced the trio: “You know Kylos.” She nodded at the younger man. "Clem, my top general,” she said, palm extended towards the woman. The older woman’s head dipped once, her almond shaped eyes, almost black in the dim lighting, steady as a cat’s. “And Jedon,” Lexa gestured at the man, “Anya’s trusted advisor, and her brother." 

The back of Clarke’s neck prickled and the hairs on her arm rose. That was why his face was like a ghost to her, she saw the shadows of Anya in it. His facial structure was not as sharp as hers, but his body was willowy under his masculine build, and those were Anya’s eyes that looked out of his face, if perhaps a tinge more brown than hazel, and his skin a shade or two darker than hers. Clarke realized, a second too late, that his hand was extended, and she gripped his forearm in a formal greeting. She offered the woman, Clem, her arm, who took it with a grip stronger than her petite build suggested. Then she extended her hand to Kylos, who squeezed her forearm with a palm as warm as his eyes. 

“We’re all here,” Lexa said. She turned and the bottom of her cape gamboled around her boots like a familiar. She stood at the head of the table, hands rested on the back of the chair. The others took their places, too – Clarke and Kylos on one side, Clem and Jedon on the other. They stood, awaiting their Commander. Lexa said, “Let’s begin.” She drew out the chair, which gritted over the rough floor, and sat. The others followed, Clarke a little hesitant, seated at the edge of her chair. 

“Anything we discuss in this room, will stay secret between the five of us,” Lexa began, her voice low as a warning. 

Clarke shifted uncomfortably. “Actually,” she said, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. Lexa gave her a look as sharp as moonlight caught on a blade of grass, and Clarke swallowed. “There’s someone else –" 

Once again, she was interrupted by the scrape of the door hinges. A quick fire was in Lexa’s eyes as they darted from Clarke’s face to the door. Standing there, her hair held back from her face in four braids, her body bound in leather and armor, her boots stained with mud and grass, was Octavia Blake. She met the silence – of surprise, of anger – with a defiant tilt of her chin. “So, are we having a secret meeting or what?" 

Lexa’s narrowed eyes turned to Clarke. “Explain.” Her voice was a hair away from a snarl.

Clarke took a deep breath. “We called this meeting with people we trust,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “And I trust Octavia. With my _life_ ,” she added when the Commander’s expression remained stony. “She’s smart and fearless and loyal, and she’s not afraid to bend the rules. She’s an outside perspective on all this.” She huffed and implored Lexa, “Trust me on this one, okay?" 

Lexa’s eyes bore into hers for a long moment, as though she was reading Clarke, and only the flicker of her eyes betrayed the conflict behind that expressionless face. “Any other surprise visitors?” she remarked drily and Clarke shook her head, just managing to hold back a smile of relief. “We can begin,” Lexa said, turning back to the rest of the council. "What we discuss now,” she repeated, “Will stay secret between the _six_ of us. You must swear, by the blood of your body and the bones of your mothers and fathers, to be loyal to me and me alone. Even if the price for that is banishment, imprisonment, torture” – she deliberately avoided Clarke’s eyes – “or death. If you are not willing to so swear,” her gaze lingered on Octavia, “leave now and forget that this meeting occurred." 

“I swear,” Clem said solemnly, her eyes black as flint. 

“I swear,” echoed Jedon in his rich baritone. 

“I swear,” Kylos affirmed, the candlelight flickering almost with reverence in the blue eyes that he turned to his Commander. 

“I swear,” Octavia said, more serious than Clarke had ever seen in her before. 

And finally, Clarke held Lexa’s gaze with her own and promised, “I swear." 

Lexa gave a single, deep nod. “Good. Here is why I called this meeting. Someone tried to kill me three nights ago.” Except for the slight widening of her eyes, Clem betrayed no emotion in her stoic face. Jedon leaned forward, brows drawn down. Kylos, jaw slack, shoulders terse. And Octavia tried to keep up her unfazed appearance, but the arches of her eyebrows were reaching for her hairline. “He was Ice Nation." 

“Are you sure, _Heda?_ ” Jedon said.  

“I killed him myself,” she confirmed, “And I saw his body again today. There’s no mistake."

“Should we kick Azgeda out of the Coalition, then?” Kylos blurted out. 

“ _Branwoda_ ,” Clem snapped. “Roan is smart enough to know that he doesn’t gain anything from betraying _Heda_ except the wrath of the other Clans." 

“She’s right,” Lexa agreed. “It’s one of my enemies." 

“Which one?”

"Pick one,” Lexa returned sarcastically and Clem smirked.

Octavia half raised her hand. “I’m guessing it’s someone who doesn’t like what you’re doing. Specifically about Skaikru. I mean, there’s talk that executing Pike wasn’t enough.” She stopped when she realized that all the others were looking at her. She shrugged. “What? I hear things." 

“She’s right,” Jedon agreed, and before he was done Octavia exclaimed, “Thank you!” Jedon smiled, and continued, “people are talking. Not everyone is happy with how you’ve done things recently – with Skaikru, and with Titus." 

“Titus got better than he deserved,” Lexa growled under her breath. Clarke lay a hand on her knee under the table.

“The point is,” Clarke said, “we need to find out who wants Lexa dead. The assassin wasn’t acting alone, whoever’s behind this isn’t giving up." 

“It could be someone who wants the Coalition to fail,” Clem suggested. “There are plenty in the Clans who would want that, especially the ones on the peripheries. They think it’s more trouble than it’s worth." 

“And they’re probably right,” Lexa said with a humorless chuckle. “The Coalition has been a lot of work and sacrifices for all of us. Do you think they would hate me enough for it to kill me?" 

“Not in Trikru,” Jedon proclaimed.

“No,” Lexa echoed with the shadow of a smile. “Not Trikru.” She trusted her own people enough to know that they wouldn’t plot against her.

“There were those,” Clem said slowly, “who didn’t support you after your Conclave.” Lexa’s warning glare was icy as the first frost, but the older woman continued, “Those who don’t think you are the rightful Commander." 

“Lexa?” Clarke searched her face, but the impassive mask had fallen over the smooth features, leaving no cracks for emotion. “What’s she talking about?” Octavia looked as puzzled as Clarke felt, but the others were all looking at Lexa like they knew some kind of secret but couldn’t tell it. 

Lexa’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “My Conclave,” she said, the slightest hint of a tremor in her voice, “was unorthodox. I wasn’t chosen in the normal way. And there are those who think that means I’m not chosen at all." 

“What do you mean?” Clarke asked. “You told me you killed all the other Nightbloods –" 

“And you thought that was normal?” Lexa said with a hint of smirk. “We’re not barbarians, Clarke, despite what your people may think." 

Clarke had to roll her eyes at that, but pressed on, “Then…?" 

“When the Commander dies, the Spirit of the Commander is passed onto a Nightblood. At the Conclave they meditate, until one of them finds the Spirit inside them. Then they speak with the Flamekeeper, who can prove that they are chosen by the Spirit, and the ceremony is completed.” At Clarke’s slack-jawed expression Lexa gave a smile that was half rueful, half fond. “We don’t kill off a dozen of our best fighters just to choose a leader." 

Clarke closed her mouth, shaking her head to get rid of the daze. “Then what happened at yours?" 

A shadow passed over Lexa’s expression and she averted her eyes from Clarke’s. Her voice was even. “I couldn’t reach the Spirit of the Commander. None of us could. That’s why we fought to the death. It’s a terrible waste of life.” She let out a shaky breath and Clarke knew that it wasn’t just the loss of life she was lamenting, but the lives of the people she grew up with, and her own innocence – or what was left of it – along with them. She clutched Lexa’s hand, not caring who saw. Lexa drew another shaky breath and when she spoke again her voice was calm. “And of course, the last Nightblood standing is the last Nightblood in the twelve clans, making them the next Commander. But there were a lot of people who didn’t like me. They didn’t expect me to win, but I did, and there wasn’t much of a choice,” she finished. 

“And they couldn’t have had a better Commander,” Clarke said with conviction. 

“True words,” Jedon agreed. “There were those who have always been loyal to Lexa. Those who know her, who trained her, fought with her. They knew she would be the Commander she is today. But there were many who didn’t think so, and her rule in those early days weren’t easy." 

“Early days,” Lexa said with a wry twist of her lips. “More like early years. Titus didn’t like me at first.” Her voice turned brittle at the mention of the former Flamekeeper. “He thought me an unworthy successor to Commander Erik. But once Titus started supporting me, more warriors did too, experienced ones who trusted his judgement. Of course, there were still those who didn’t like me, those who wouldn’t hesitate to kill me and put someone else on the throne as soon as a new Nightblood was available. Until you landed,” her voice softened as she turned Clarke, “and there was a common enemy to give the Coalition meaning." 

“Glad to be of service,” Clarke returned, struggling with the temptation to kiss those almost-smiling lips. 

“She was sixteen,” Clem said and Clarke pulled back with a conscious effort. She kept her eyes on the general, deliberately avoiding Lexa’s gaze like they were schoolgirls caught by a teacher. She had a feeling that Lexa was doing the same. “It’s hard to tell warriors to follow a girl half their age into battle, harder still to end generations of conflict on her word. There was unrest among the Clans, Azgeda leading most of them." 

“Azgeda.” Octavia slapped the table. All five pairs of eyes shot towards her. “ _Think_ , you guys. They accepted you as Commander because you were the only Nightblood alive at the time – but now everyone knows you’re not."

Clarke’s throat was suddenly dry and tight, but she said a single name: “Ontari." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It makes absolutely no sense to put the time and resources into training the Nightbloods into top warriors only for them to kill each other. That's always irked me. It's my headcanon that the Commander's successor is chosen in a way that involves less death and probably more meditation/hallucinatory drugs, like a shamanistic ritual, until one of them finds the Spirit and the Flamekeeper takes them aside and questions them on things only the Commander would know. But of course the show doesn't care if their worldbuilding makes sense...
> 
> ANYWAY. Sorry this is a long chapter with people sitting around talking. It turned out to be longer than I anticipated. And I'm sorry that there will be another one of these chapters later on in the fic.


	19. Chapter 19

Clarke dropped onto the sofa, kicking her boots off in the process to flop gracelessly onto the cushions. Lexa took off her coat to hang it on its usual place by the door. Next came her shoulder guard with the sweeping red sash. Then her belt, and finally her gauntlets, laid on top of a chest of drawers. She moved towards the sofa – but stopped herself and took a seat on another chair. She leant forward, elbows resting on her knees. A few strands of hair, escaped from her braids, curled loosely over her forehead, coming to rest by her ear.

Clarke’s slumped position suddenly didn’t feel relaxing at all. She sat up, feet firm on the floor, and leaned forward. Lexa still didn’t meet her eyes, and somehow that was worse than her tense posture and the physical distance combined. 

“I’m sorry,” she said and Lexa looked up, “that I didn’t tell you about Octavia." 

“It’s fine,” Lexa said, almost like she was realizing it for herself. “It is. I just… don’t do that again, alright?”

A relieved smile flickered briefly onto Clarke’s face. She couldn’t deal with another argument any more than she could stop herself from being pulled into one. “I won’t. I promise.”

“We need to discuss important decisions before we make them.” Lexa’s eyebrows drew together. “Together.”

“Okay. Agreed. No more blind-siding each other.”

“You’re right about Octavia being useful,” Lexa acknowledged, getting up from her chair. Clarke’s eyes followed her as she sat down, cross-legged on the floor, in front of the mirror. She began undoing her braids and smoothed down her hair. “She did come up with the answer of who’s behind all this…” Her brow wrinkled. “And I know that she’s right, in my gut.” She met Clarke’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m sorry, it's not particularly easy for me to be trusting right now." 

“I know,” Clarke said, touched by the admission. She knelt behind Lexa, helping her take out the pins at the back of her head. Ran her fingers through brown curls to coax them out of the tight braids. Lexa’s hair was silky, almost liquid through her fingers. Lexa let out a long exhale, tension leaving her neck and shoulders, eyes drifting half-shut, relaxing into Clarke’s touch. “And I can’t blame you. Someone tried to kill you, Lexa." 

Green eyes snapped open. “Not the first time, and it won’t be the last,” she said. “That’s not what bothers me. It’s that I don’t know who else is with them… with Ontari." 

“But the ones in your secret council – you trust them?”

“As much as I trust anyone in Polis.” Her hair loose, Lexa turned around so she could look Clarke in the eye. Her hair, wavy from the braids, fell around her shoulders and curled against her collarbones. “They’re all on my side. I wouldn’t have had the support I needed to keep my throne when I first became Commander, if it wasn’t for Clem rallying the Mountain Clans to support me. Anya was my mentor, she taught me how to fight and how to protect myself. It was with her and Jedon that I learned about partnership and sacrifice. I trust him almost as much as I trust her.” 

“And Kylos?” Clarke probed. He couldn’t be older than her by any more than a couple of years, and clearly lacked the experience Clem and Jedon had, but Lexa still trusted him to be on her secret council.

“He’s young, and naive,” Lexa admitted with a wry smile. “But he’s the most loyal person I know. His brother was a Nightblood.” Her gaze turned sorrowful as it fixed on the past. “I killed him, and in spite of that Kylos still supported me as Commander. He never doubted that I was chosen.” Then the quivering wetness in her eyes and lips were gone and she was once again collected, matter of fact. “I trust them, Clarke,” she said. "And I trust you,” Clarke’s lips quirked up in one corner at that, and Lexa continued, “I trust your judgement, so I trust Octavia." 

“Thank you, Lexa.” It came out as barely more than a murmur.  

Lexa smiled, her eyes bright, and for a moment Clarke thought she would kiss her. Then the moment passed and Lexa’s softness dissolved into the smooth planes of her face. She got up and Clarke followed her, slower, back to the chairs.

Lexa thought out loud, “Kylos is a boy, and Jedon is a brave warrior but he’s no leader like Anya. But Clem… she commands respect, especially in the Mountain Clans. Having her on my side means they will remain loyal to me. I hope.” Her smile was faint. “I’ve considered making her my Flamekeeper, you know." 

“Are you going to?"

Lexa’s gaze pinned Clarke in place, the light in her eyes was like a predator, like some big cat intently focused, gold specks in green eyes leaping alive like embers. “A Flamekeeper is the Commander’s top advisor. They have to be loyal, of course, and brave, because it’s hard to say and do what is right. They have to be wise and think before they act, be just but also merciful, because judgement is one of their duties. They must present a united front with me in public but dare to challenge me behind closed doors, because they speak with my voice and are my closest confidant. And more than anything, they must be someone I trust.” The shadow of a smile crossed Lexa’s lips. “And there is only one person in all of the Clans that I trust more than Clem, Clarke,” she said, her voice soft as her tongue curled around the name. “You." 

“ _Me?!_ ” Clarke’s eyes were wide, mouth agape. Her throat was tight and dry.

Lexa stalked towards her, each step sure and commanding. Challenging. Her gaze was sharp and intense. “Be my Flamekeeper." 

“But I –“ Clarke struggled to find the words, her heart hammered against the base of her throat. “Are you sure? I’m barely even one of your people. I mean, Skaikru is –” 

“You can learn,” Lexa said, “And if anything that challenges what I’ve been taught, the things I take for granted. Like changing ‘blood must have blood.’" Lexa lifted her chin, her expression seemed collected except for the ardor in her eyes, beholding some grander vision that stirred beneath her skin. “I’ve thought about this when you were in Arkadia, and there’s no one I would rather rule with me." 

Clarke wasn’t sure if she should fight the smile that wanted to spread across her lips, and she surrendered to it. “And who am I to question my Commander’s judgement?" 

“So you accept?" Lexa quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Clarke placed her hand in Lexa’s outstretched one. As their hands fit into each other’s, something bloomed inside Clarke, powerful and glorious, unbreakable. Something that first took root when Lexa knelt at her feet and took her offered hand, when she rose and they stood together, neither a threat or a contending force, more than an ally found on the same side of a line, but for the first time an _equal._ A partner. This was history being built. On a pair of joined hands, on two beating hearts. United, and stronger for it.


	20. Chapter 20

The sun filtered through the gauze curtain of the balcony, watery and obscured by clouds. Lexa sat on her throne, back straight, eyes startlingly green behind the black paint over her eyes. Clarke was with the other ambassadors, in their high-backed chairs that formed an oblong semi-circle facing the throne. 

Lexa began the meeting. “We’ll start by discussing the –“

A man stood up. Lexa off abruptly. “Yes, Uzac?” she coolly addressed Uzac, the ambassador from the Broadleaf Clan.

“The Broadleaf Clan announces that we no longer recognize you as _Heda_ , Lexa kom Trikru” 

The silence was so thick it clogged Clarke’s airways. Her throat constricted. She could barely breathe. She gripped the arms of her chair and tensed. Leaned forward.

Lexa’s eyes were narrowed, like a feral cat flicking her tail in gathering anger. Her voice pierced the smothering silence. “What?" 

Uzac looked straight at her, chin tilted at an insolent angle. “We only follow the true Commander. And it is not you." He turned on his heels and started his walk towards the far end of the room.

“Stop!” Lexa ordered, but he paid no heed. “Uzac.” She snapped his name like a whip and he stopped just before the double doors. “Who is it then that Yujleda now follows? Who do you recognize as _Heda?_ "

“Ontari kom Azgeda.” Understanding flashed through Lexa’s eyes, a confirmation of a suspicion. “You thought you were the last Nightblood four years ago. We all did. But Ontari survived the Conclave, and she is the true heir of the Flame. Even those closest to you believe her." Lexa shot Clarke a look, almost panicked.

“If that is all,” Uzac said snidely. He gave a mocking bow. Left the room as the Commander and all twelve other ambassadors watched. 

“Well then.” At Lexa’s voice twelve pairs of eyes snapped back to the front of the room. She tried to sound unfazed but there was a faintly detectable tremor in her voice and beneath the surface of her eyes, her face. “The thirteen Clans have become twelve once again." 

“With all due respect, Commander,” Asha, the Sankru ambassador said hesitantly, “Sankru will leave the Coalition, too.” 

“And join Ontari?” Lexa couldn’t disguise the weariness in her voice.

“She has as much right as you to rule. Perhaps more so, she can communicate with past Commanders." 

“Even without the Flame?”

“Yes, and she has witnesses. Ones whose authority we trust." 

Lexa held Asha’s gaze, but eventually consented. “If you want to leave there’s nothing I can do to stop you." 

Asha looked remorseful, but she dipped her head and left the throne room, too. Lexa sat back down on her throne. But her shoulders hunched a little, her back less than straight. It was the closest to defeated she had ever looked in front of her ambassadors or her people. “Is there anyone else who wants to break the unity we’ve been working for since Commander Jynn’s time?” This time there were no interruptions, and she lifted her hand. “Dismissed.” Clarke rose with the rest but didn’t turn to leave, instead casting a look at Lexa – “Clarke, stay." 

When the last of the ambassadors had shuffled out of the room, Clarke ascended the dais. Lexa rested her forehead into her palm, breathing heavily. Clarke dropped to her knees at her side. She squeezed Lexa’s forearm, rested on the arm of her throne.

“Four Commanders.” Lexa said bitterly. “That’s how long this Coalition took. Jynn, August,Erik, and now Lexa. I never thought I would be the one who could unite the Clans. Less still that they would fall apart under my watch.” 

“Hey, look at me.” Clarke cupped her face. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have predicted Ontari’s existence. Or her rebellion.” 

“If only I tried harder at my Conclave,” Lexa insisted, “Meditated longer, looked deeper inside me… I might have found the Spirit. I could have stopped… what happened. And put the Clans’ faith in me. If I did then, they wouldn’t doubt me today.”

“It’s not. Your. Fault.” Clarke stressed each word. "You can't change what's happened.” 

Lexa's smile was bitter as a grimace. "No, you can't." 

She lifted her head to meet Clarke's eyes and, hesitantly, traced Clarke's cheek with shaking fingers. Her lips began to part in the beginning of words – but the door shoved open. Her hand sprang back and Clarke scrambled to her feet just as Clem and Jedon marched in. 

Clem was fuming. "Commander, I just heard that the Desert and Broadleaf clans have left the Coalition."

Lexa sat up straight. She grimaced, the only trace of how fragilely she was held together. "You heard correctly."

"Ontari's influence is spreading, quicker than we thought." 

"Yeah, it's not just Ice Nation that she's managed to convince," Clarke added. "I mean, if she's gotten other Clans on her side too..."

"She must have support outside _Azgeda_." Lexa finished. She glanced around the spacious throne room, noticing the open balcony behind her, how their voices echoed. “The meeting room yesterday. Get Kylos and Octavia. Don’t go together, and make sure no one sees you." 

When Clem and Jedon left,Clarke turned to Lexa, the concern in her blue eyes loud even though she didn't say a word. Lexa nodded and gave a terse little smile. It didn’t touch her eyes.  

* * *

Candlelight shimmered in the underground room, caught on Lexa’s green eyes and brought out the gold specks in them. Black paint was still smeared across her face, making her look fierce, the Commander of a disintegrating coalition. She spoke to her secret council. “Ontari's influence is spreading out of Ice Nation. We know that she's convinced the Broadleaf and Desert clans to follow her. But we don't know who else.”

"And it's worrying that these are the Clans that share our borders," Clem pointed out. “The Broadleaf Clan shares our southern border, the Desert Clan our western one. And to the north,  Azgeda. The Boat People are our neighbors in the east but they never get involved. We are surrounded by enemies and cut off from all our allies in the Mountains, to the west." 

"They want to cut us off from our support.”

"What if," Clarke was hesitant, "that's not the only reason?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"The Ice Nation isn't in outright rebellion, unlike the Broadleaf and Desert clans. Because Roan is definitely on our side." 

"He's not dumb enough to support someone his mom chose as heir over him," Octavia put in.  

“Exactly.” Clarke nodded and continued. "So Ontari is a rebel in Azgeda, too. Which makes me think – what if she convinced those clans because of proximity – not to Azgeda but to _Polis_?" 

"Why would she –" Jedon began to argue by Clarke cut him off.  

"She's gained influence with the other Clans but she's still laying low in Ice Nation. She must have support here." She looked around the table. "Who do we know is here in Polis, has no reason to support Lexa, and definitely has the power to convince the other clans?" 

Lexa hissed a curse in Trigedasleng just as Jedon said, "Titus." 

"I should have killed him when I had the chance," Lexa snarled. She pounded a fist on the table. The candle's flame gave a sudden, final flare as it reached the end of the wax, but it was nothing compared to the fury in her eyes.

“If you did, a rebellion would start in a second, from more clans than these three,” Clarke reminded her. “You did the right thing." 

“I didn’t have to let him go free. I should have set guards to watch his every move. Locked him in the prison. Cut out his tongue.” She added the last viciously. 

“Hey.” Clarke put a hand on her shoulder “You did what you had to. You showed mercy. The Clans won’t forget that." 

“She’s right,” Clem said, a tad less dispassionate than usual. “Strength will bring you fear, mercy love, but you need both to earn loyalty. That’s why the Clans still support you." 

“Less and less of them,” Lexa muttered. 

“I say we can do without them,” Kylos said. “Yujleda and Trikru have always fought over borders, longer than any of the elders remember. Sankru may have sided with Ontari over us, but you have all the other Clans on your side, _Heda_."

“And Skaikru will always stand by Trikru,” Clarke added, squeezing Lexa’s shoulder.

Lexa’s smile, though small, was thankful. The look they shared was private, almost like they were in a space all their own.

“But why would Titus do this?” Kylos protested. “He might be a traitor, but he believed it to be for the good of our people." 

“I don’t doubt his loyalty,” Lexa agreed, “But it is to _our people_ , not to _me_. If he believes that making Ontari Commander is what’s good for our people, he won’t hesitate to replace me. Kill me, if he has to. As he’s proven he’s capable of.” A shadow roughened the edges of her voice. “Don’t underestimate what a man will do if he’s convinced himself he’s always right.” Her voice became clear again as she continued. “Right now it may only be two clans that have left the Coalition, but Ontari will try to convince more. And if she has Titus on his side, chances are she’ll succeed. Jedon,” she ordered, “Visit the villages of Trikru, see if Ontari’s rumours have spread and make sure that my people are loyal to me."

The dark-skinned warrior dipped his head. 

"Clem, go home to your people in the Blue Cliff Clan,” Lexa continued. "They have always been Trikru’s strongest allies. Make sure Ontari’s influence hasn’t spread there yet. See if you can convince Rock Line and Shadow Valley too." 

“The Mountain Clans may bicker amongst themselves, but none have any love for the Ice Nation. They’ll fight for you if it comes to it,” the general promised.

“Travel light and quick, report to me as soon as you can." 

The pair bowed and left the chamber, to make preparations for their travels. 

“Octavia,” Lexa continued, "I want you to spy on Titus. Find out who he speaks to, where he goes, how he fills his days. Report back to me."

Octavia nodded and left. 

“Kylos,” Lexa said to the last remaining member of her council, "You are to be Clarke’s guard." 

“Lexa, really?” Clarke protested. “That is so unnecessary –" 

“Go with her wherever she goes. Don’t let her out of your sight and always be ready to protect her.” Lexa paused to look at Clarke, pondered, and added as an afterthought, “Unless she is with me."

“Yes, _Heda_ ,” Kylos bowed his head. To Clarke he smiled. “Stuck with me for a while longer, then,” he said. He must have noticed the indignant light in her eyes as she glared at Lexa, because his smile faded and he mumbled something about waiting for her outside before slipping out the door.

Clarke faced Lexa, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Really? You’re going to assign a _guard_ for me?" 

“You came back to Polis despite my orders,” Lexa said. Her eyes were as dispassionate as when she commanded an army, and Clarke was reminded that Lexa and the Commander were not always separable, even if the former sometimes shed the latter like a layer of armour. “You’ll stay by my conditions. Do you understand, Clarke?” Lexa cupped the base of Clarke’s skull with a fierce protectiveness. “You’ll stay _safe_." 

Clarke knew where Lexa’s overprotectiveness came from, and she wasn’t ungrateful that Lexa sent one of the only people she trusted to be Clarke’s bodyguard. It was just that – “I promised that we’ll talk about decisions before we make them. _Together._ ” She stressed. “That goes both ways. Especially if I’m going to be your Flamekeeper. You can’t just make a decision like that and spring it on me." 

“This is different, it's about your safety.”

Clarke huffed, exasperated. “You can’t protect me forever, you know. For now, maybe. But you can’t have Kylos follow me around the rest of my life like some oversized puppy." 

“Not forever,” Lexa’s voice softened. “Just until Ontari’s rebellion is over. Until your life stops being in danger because of me." 

Clarke’s smile was bittersweet. “That won’t ever stop,” she said. “There will be other people who want to hurt you. Other wars to be fought, other enemies to be made.”  She cradled Lexa’s cheek in her hand, running her thumb over the skin and smudging the jagged edges of her warpaint. “I chose to be with you, dangers and all. Okay?"

Lexa hesitated. Her shoulders drooped. Her defensive posture slid into one of vulnerability. She suddenly looked years younger, just a girl, only two years older than Clarke. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded ever so slightly. She kissed Clarke’s forehead. “Just until Ontari stops being a threat,” she promised. Her eyes were soft and green as moss, imploring. “Please?" 

It was hard to say no to Lexa when she looked like that, halfway broken and entirely precious. But Clarke made a last bid. “Octavia can’t watch Titus twenty four-seven by herself. How about Kylos and I can do that with her? I promise I’ll always be with one of them. And when I’m not I’ll be with you." 

“Fine, if that’s the best I can get you to agree to.” Contrasting against the stark war paint, Lexa was all softness. Warm eyes and sad smile.

“Thank you.” She knew even before Clarke said those words. She extended her hand. Clarke took it and they walked out of the room hand in hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More people sitting around talking, yaaayy. Thrilling I know.   
> The sight of this chapter fills me with despair, but after a dozen edits (and a lot of sobbing) I figure this is the best it's going to get without completely rewriting it.  
> I want to upload it just so I can stop looking at it and we can all move on to more exciting and better written stuff.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is one long ass chapter.

It was hours past midnight, yet still hours more to go before dawn. The moon was a sickle of a rip, doing little to illuminate those under the cloth of the glittering sky. Barely enough to cast crooked branches and stark pine-tops in a jagged silhouette against the sky. It was quiet, but not the soundless kind. The tall grass whispered secrets to the breeze, who told the pine needles and budding blossoms. The mouse that hurried through the clearing left in his wake a different whisper, one of food and a warm den and the shadow of the owl. 

The silence was shattered like a knife slice through the fabric of the night. Pounding hooves emerged into the clearing, a strange beast with a horse’s legs and sensitive head, but with a man’s urgency and roughness. The mouse squeaked and scurried in the direction of his den as the earth next to him was smashed by an iron-heavy hoof. Urged on by the scent of his rider’s fear, the horse tore across the clearing, into woodland again, and towards the south.

* * *

Clarke and Octavia sat with their backs against a sturdy tree trunk. This was the third day they watched Titus. His house was at the edge of Polis and out of the way of the others. So far nothing was happening. Fanatical ambitions aside, Titus was a fairly boring person. He went out briefly every morning to the same shop where he bought food and exchanged a few pleasantries with the woman who ran it. Sometimes he went for a stroll in the evening. Except for that he stayed at home all day. A few people would pass by his house, but none stopped at the house at the bend of the narrow road. 

“You know, this is kind of familiar,” Octavia said, “Reminds me of the beginning, way back at the dropship. You know, standing guard and all that. "

“Yeah, kind of does, actually.” Clarke laughed. “That seems so long ago.” Even though they were fighting to stay alive, fighting the Grounders and the Reapers and the acid fog… that was a simpler time. When everything was a threat. When loyalties and treacheries were not yet part of the equation. When it was just about surviving.

“It’s really only been a few months, though.”

“But so much has happened,” Clarke said wistfully.

“Yeah,” Octavia agreed. “I would never have guessed that we’d be in the Grounder capital as part of their Coalition, helping the Commander fight a wannabe."

“Nicely put,” Clarke said with a wry smile.

“Much less that the Commander is your girlfriend.” Octavia gave a knowing smirk, raising her eyebrows.

Clarke caught herself before her jaw fell open and blinked. “What girlfriend?"

Octavia laughed. “Nice try, Griffin. Like come on, we all know about you and Lexa. You suck at keeping secrets. And lying,” she added as an afterthought, “though not always, I mean you can be –"

“Octavia.” Clarke grabbed her arm. She spun around to face Octavia. Leaned intently towards her. Lowered her voice but that only emphasized the note of urgency even more. “Who else knows about me and Lexa?"

Octavia looked exasperated but kept her voice down. “Everyone in the secret council, for one,” she answered. “Indra – she’s known for ages. Some of Lexa’s guards, maybe a couple of the warriors… you guys really aren’t being all that subtle, you go all heart eyes every time she opens her mouth." 

“No I don’t, I’m stoic as hell,” Clarke wrinkled her nose.

"Sure you are, Griffin.” Octavia snorted. “Keep telling yourself that." 

“Don’t go around telling everyone, okay?" 

“Fine,” Octavia said lightly, drawing back to lean against the tree trunk. “It’s not like it’s much of a secret anyway.”

Clarke huffed, but didn’t argue. She knew how stubborn the Blake siblings could be.

“One thing that’s the same though,” Octavia said grudgingly, “you’re still looking out for us.” Clarke’s head snapped to Octavia in surprise. But the younger girl was silent, her gaze directed towards Titus’s house once again. Clarke was left searching for words in her dry throat.

_Snap!_ They both froze at the sound behind them. Both on their feet in a crouch. Exchanged a glance. Clarke’s hand slipped to her boot. Tightened around the hilt of the knife there. 

A man appeared from behind a tree. “Kylos!” Octavia gasped. "Scared the crap out of us!"

“Sorry.” He flashed a quick grin, but it lacked his familiar cheer. His face was unusually serious. Clarke’s heart sped up though she didn’t know why. “Clarke,” he said, “Commander Lexa wants you to meet her at Dala’s."

She took off after a hasty word of excusing herself . She ran all the way to the tower, to the clearing behind it with the circle of houses. Dala’s was familiar to her. Clarke hesitated before the weathered door. Lexa was be okay, she told herself. They parted at the tower only that morning; how much could have happened while she was with Octavia? _It only takes a second to end a life._ She shoved the thought away. She rapped her knuckles against the wood and was pushing the door open before the “come in” sounded from inside. The scent of herbs greeted her as soon as she stepped into the healer’s cabin, earthy and spicy, tangy and pungent all at once. She sought out Lexa immediately and at the sight of her standing with her arms crossed in front of her chest, her face unmarked except for the smudged war paint around her eyes, the pressure around Clarke's chest released. “Lexa, are you –" 

“I’m fine,” Lexa reassured her with a terse nod before focusing her attention on Dala. Clarke followed her gaze. It was only then that she noticed the man sharing the bench with the healer, while she tended to his injuries. His brown hair was pulled back and tied at his nape, though loose strands fell about his face. His beard was scraggly, the stubble longer in some parts than others, the longer hair forming a stark symmetric pattern that framed his sharp chin and set off his cheekbones, which were augmented by the deliberate scars on his face.

“Roan.” Clarke’s voice rose in pitch.

The King of Azgeda turned towards her and nodded in greeting. Clarke walked around him to join Lexa. A staccato rhythm still beat in her throat. She wrapped an arm around Lexa’s waist and leaned against her. Lexa turned to her and raised her eyebrows a fraction in an unspoken question, but the way Clarke shook her head despite her tight brow was enough for Lexa to rest her hand on the small of Clarke’s back in a half-hug. Clarke took a deep breath, inhaling both the herb-scent in the air and Lexa, tangible at her side. Her head cleared and the haze of worry lifted from her sight.

Roan was shirtless. Dala was bandaging up his abdomen, and along his exposed arm was a long gash, a valley of deep red in his dirt-smeared skin. “What happened?” she asked.

“Ontari happened,” Lexa said, her voice like a promise of thunder. 

Roan put his shirt down at Dala’s instruction and extended his injured arm towards her. He half-turned towards Clarke. “Ontari leads Ice Nation now. She drove me out, made it seem like I don’t have a rightful claim to the throne. She said that Nia chose her to succeed, and she used her Nightblood as proof of her leadership. She promises that she will lead Ice Nation to conquer Polis and take her rightful place as Commander” – Lexa stiffened – “because she has the Spirit." 

Clarke made a sound of disbelief. She struggled to speak. The words strangled in her throat. “No way,” she managed to get out. “They believed that?" 

“Maybe not all of them, but does it matter?” Roan shrugged and winced at the pain. Dala tsked and scolded him in Trigedasleng, and for a moment the King of Azgeda looked like a reprimanded boy. "Most of them just want to see an _Azyon_ as Commander." 

“Fair enough, but they would turn on their King like that?"

Roan’s sigh came from deep in his stomach. “Let’s just say that I’m not popular. I was crowned by the one who killed their last Queen, after all.” His eyes darted to Lexa. “And loyalties to Nia – and now Ontari – are stronger than those to me."

“But there _are_ warriors loyal to you,” Lexa clarified. 

“Of course –"

“And they’re in Azgeda now?"

“Yes.” For a moment, grief raw as healing skin was exposed in his eyes. He controlled it, but its shadow wavered as beneath a rippling surface. “They helped us get out. Two of my closest friends were supposed to come with me, it would have been too dangerous for them to stay, but they… they were discovered. They’re dead now."

“Are you sure?” Clarke asked.

Roan didn’t meet her eyes, but gave a single, heavy nod.

“Roan,” she said, heartfelt. “I’m sorry."

“Can we count on support from inside Azgeda?” Lexa didn’t wait for Roan to respond to Clarke’s sympathies. “Are their numbers enough?"

“Three, maybe four hundred,” Roan answered. "Not a lot, but enough to make a difference. Remember that Azgeda is much bigger than Trikru,” he added with a little smirk. “They’ll support me, especially when they see you backing me." 

“But in return I need _you_ to back _me_ ,” Lexa said. “If Ontari is coming to Polis, I need your word that your supporters will stand against Ontari and the rest of Azgeda with me.” She squared her jaw. In her eyes was a challenge. 

And Roan rose to it. “If I don’t?" 

Lexa tilted her chin up. "Protection in Polis is only for my subjects."

Roan held her gaze, eyes narrowing, his head tilting ever so slightly – and bowed his head. “My warriors are yours, Commander _._ " 

“I will hold you to that _,_ King Roan.” Lexa promised. She nodded to Dala. “I’ll leave you to your work.” She strode towards the door. 

Clarke followed but Dala said, “stay behind. I want to take a look at how your wound is mending." 

“Sure,” Clarke said. She squeezed Lexa’s arm, “I’ll meet you at home.” Lexa cupped Clarke’s elbow in her palm. Green eyes, golden-flecked in the pale light from the window and the glowering firelight, darted to Clarke’s lips. Then she nodded and drew back, her fingers trailing a path along the back of Clarke’s forearm, her wrist, the back of her hand and her knuckles, and their fingertips kissed goodbye. Then she turned and left and the wooden door shut behind her. 

Clarke sat on a stool next to Dala, watching her finish dressing Roan’s arm with a tart-smelling poultice under a clean bandage. When she was done she turned to Clarke. Without being told, Clarke lifted up her shirt for Dala to inspect her gunshot wound. “It’s healed well,” she remarked. “The bandage can come off – if you promise to not reopen the wound." 

“Promise,” Clarke answered immediately and received a skeptical look from Dala. 

“That means no running, climbing –"

"As much as possible.” She promised. She watched Roan pace the length of the hut, from the fireplace to the back wall where dried herbs hung from a rack. “Roan,” she said, “why don’t you support Ontari? She’s one of your people." 

“My people.” The word curled like a snarl through his teeth. “She’s one of  _Nia’s_ people. Trained by her, just as cold and twice as ruthless.” He scoffed. “Unlike you, I have no love for the Commander. But Nia, I hate. And the Commander killed her and made me king. I don't like owing people."

"Why did Nia hate you so much?" The words came out of Clarke's mouth before she realized it. "What were you banished for?" 

He stopped pacing and turned his head to look at Clarke like a hawk contemplating its prey. "Nia sacrifices her people for herself. Collateral damage, she calls it. Like her son. And her daughter before him. You think you're special to the Commander, _Wanheda_? So was my sister, to Nia. She was supposed to be queen. But she wanted to make peace and not war with the other Clans. Nia didn't like that so much. She was killed in a war – though by a Shadow Valley or Ice Nation blade, we will never know."

Clarke's quiet voice reverberated in the stillness of the stuffy hit. "And you?" 

"There was a girl once, a girl the Commander loved. And the Commander, being a girl herself, didn’t think to hide this, didn’t realize how her lover would be in danger because of what she meant to her."

“Costia,” Clarke murmured. 

He resumed pacing. “And Nia saw, and Nia came, and Nia took the girl. When she was killed the Commander declared war. So Nia had a trial, found her son guilty, and banished him for her crime.” He stopped pacing. “And Ontari was made heir in his place.” He stepped towards Clarke, and she rose to her full height, hands clasped behind her back. “I might not love Lexa. But I hate Ontari. Almost as much as I hate Nia." 

* * *

"You sure about Roan?" Clarke asked Lexa later that evening. They had eaten dinner, their plates stacked up on the table, next to an earthen decanter of deep red wine. 

At the question the corners of Lexa's lips pulled down infinitesimally and a crease appeared between her brows, almost too subtle to notice. She swirled her cup of wine. Pressed her lips to the rim of dried red-brown clay. The wine travelled down her throat with two or three bobs. Her eyes were on the cup as she said, "We need him." There was no other way they could defend Polis. Not when their main host lay beyond a mountain range.  

But still – "that's not the same thing," Clarke pointed out. 

Lexa's eyes snapped to her. Electric and containing the ferocity of a storm. "I do what I have to. For the sake of my people. I always have done. You of all people should know that." 

That hit Clarke like a bolt of lightning. She thought of Atom, the first person whose life she ended. Wells, whose practical mind and Dad jokes and reassuring smile she missed every day. Charlotte, who killed him and she still protected. Anya, who with her promise of peace signed her own death warrant. Raven, who she was supposed to protect but failed again and again. Finn, who she loved and sank a knife into his chest, whose killer was both her and her lover. Clarke thought that if she had kill marks, they would cover the entirety of her back, overlapping and criss-crossing until her skin was a latticework, and maybe only then would her conscience be clear.  

Her voice was soft and low. “You know I do." 

Lexa managed a small smile. She met Clarke's eyes briefly but looked away, before Clarke could identify the haunted look in her green eyes. Lexa lifted her cup to her lips once more and tipped her head back. The ruby liquid slid down her throat. She set the cup back on the table with a clatter that startled the silence. She stood and walked towards the partition to the sleeping area. As she passed Clarke's chair she bent and gave her a kiss, brief and tender. "Come to bed with me." Her murmur was at once an order and a plea. A ceasefire. 

Clarke rose and followed her Commander to their bed. On a map of blue rivers and creamy hills and valleys of black ink, they found each other.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think about Roan's backstory? I think he's a fascinating character and I loved fleshing out his past and its effect on him as a person.
> 
> Good news: I've pretty much finished writing a first draft for all chapters! But I have a lot of editing to do and that's more tedious and in some ways harder than the actual writing.  
> I try to update more often, but it's a balance of quality over quantity and I don't post a new chapter until I think it's the best it can be.


	22. Chapter 22

Lazy fingers trailed down a tan mountain ridge, peaks topped with black snow. Lexa’s hum vibrated through her body and Clarke’s lips curved into a smile. 

She traced the hollow circle at the protruding vertebrae at the base of her neck, the which capped the column of symbols that ran on top of her spine, both ancient and futuristic at the same time. At the base of Lexa’s spine, Clarke knew, though they were now covered by the thick fur blanket, were seven solid black circles. Each representing one of the Nightbloods who died by Lexa’s hand at her Coalition. Stained on her skin like blood, just as their deaths would forever be stained on Lexa’s soul.  She pushed aside thick brown curls, pulled from their braids by a far rougher touch from the same hands earlier this night, to reveal the infinity symbol over a line of pink scar tissue. She kissed the scar and though Lexa was facing away from her she felt her smile like liquid sunlight under the skin. 

“Tell me about this one,” she prompted. 

“Every Heda has one,” came Lexa’s voice, still drowsy. “It means that the spirit is passed down, from Commander to Nightblood." 

“Infinity,” Clarke murmured. Her eyes travelled down, to the circle at the top of Lexa’s spine, ran through by a pair of thin lines. She drew her finger along its rim. 

“My Conclave.” Lexa volunteered before Clarke could ask. 

“No, I mean this circle,” Clarke clarified, tapping her finger against the bump of Lexa’s vertebrae. Lexa paused. Clarke hazarded a guess, “Is it you?” The only surviving Nightblood from that Conclave. 

“No.” Lexa’s firm reply came immediately. She drew in a breath, like she was about to speak. But hesitated. Clarke waited, knowing that she would speak when she had decided on what she wanted to share. “Nightbloods are the heirs of Becca, the first Commander. The Nightbloods and Commanders who came before me join her in death. She fell from the sky.” Clarke could hear the hint of a smile. “Like you."

Clarke pressed a kiss to Lexa’s neck. She sighed, relaxing against the pillow. Clarke’s fingers followed the line of Lexa’s shoulder, crested the hill at the outcrop of her shoulder, trekked along the ridge of her collarbone, and continued its journey down the smooth plain of her side until she stopped beneath of her ribs, where she knew was tattooed the silhouette of a bird, tail plume and outspread wings in a swirl. “This one?”

Lexa tensed. “Sometimes, people who share a close bond get tattoos together,” she said, a hint of a tremor in her voice. “Best friends, siblings, warriors who trained together,” – her throat bobbed – “lovers. Our people believe that the tattoo becomes a point of connection between their spirits. Some even say that they can feel each other physically through the tattoo. Just as the ink is permanent, and so is the bond they share. It shows devotion. That you belong to each other, even after death." She didn’t have to say for Clarke to know who it was for, and whose skin bore its twin. 

She withdrew her hand from the tattoo on Lexa’s side, instead stroked the bands inked around her arm. Each distinct band was filled in with intricate swirls and lines. The three bands fit next to each other as though they had been designed that way, but Clarke could tell by their difference in color that they were done separately. 

She didn’t have to ask for Lexa to say, “I got the first one after my first battle. Death should leave its mark on you, to remind you of mercy.” She was quiet for a moment. Her mind journeying back in time, faster than light, to remember the twilight aftermath, remember the words said to her then. Her tone was hushed when she said, “Anya taught me that.” 

“The second was when I became Commander,” she continued, her voice clear once more. “Leading is a promise. Before power, before strength, comes your duty to your people.” A promise that was stained deep into her skin, and even deeper into her soul. Each band was a promise, a responsibility. They fit together like pieces of armour, for strength and protection. But just as armour could protect, it could also weigh down and become burdens. For Lexa, they were inseparable.

“And the third?” 

There was a pause. Lexa’s answer was barely a murmur. “After the Mountain. I left… someone. The look in her eyes when I betrayed her – that will stay with me until I die." 

Without meaning to, Clarke’s fingers dug into Lexa’s skin, around the bands of the sacrifices Lexa made for her people. She turned her onto her back. Balanced herself on her elbow so she looked down on Lexa, on this woman with the Earth in her heart and stardust in her veins, who bore scars far deeper than raised flesh and black ink. Who spent so long trying to survive, for herself and for her people, that she forgot how to live. She ducked her head to kiss her. Pulled back, breathless, to whisper, “you’re amazing.” Lexa’s smile was one of those rare, uninhibited ones, like a moonbeam coming out from behind thick clouds. Clarke looked down at her with nothing but adoration, wanting to drive away the memory of the look that haunted Lexa, to give in its place a new look for her to remember for all the rest of her days. 

They kissed again, this time growing more heated. Lexa’s hands slipped behind Clarke’s head, fingers in her hair. “We should get some sleep,” Lexa panted, though her voice held no conviction. “I have an early meeting tomorrow." 

“Why don’t we,” Clarke drawled, tracing a finger under Lexa’s breast, “take a day off? You deserve it.” Lexa didn’t reply straight away and Clarke could see that she was tempted. “And I’m yours to command, Heda." 

“No.” Lexa’s answer was reluctant but firm. “There’s a war coming.” She sat up to face Clarke. She held both Clarke’s hands and her eyes in her own. Intent and unblinking. Mesmerising, gold sparks in forest green. “I promise that the second this is over we’ll have some time alone. I want to take you to a lake in the south. It’s beautiful when the flowers bloom and in the summer we can swim.” She rubbed her nose against Clarke’s. “I can teach you." 

Clarke kissed her, pressing her closer with one hand on the small of her back. “I’ll hold you to that. But for now…” there was a mischievous sparkle in her eye, “I’m sure that just fifteen more minutes won’t make a difference.” She didn’t give Lexa a chance to protest before she crashed their lips together. Lexa made a sound of surprise but angled her head to deepen the kiss, and let Clarke’s fingers wander south. 

A rapid succession of taps on the door, quiet but firm. Insistent. They both jumped. “Who is it?” Lexa called, slipping a robe over her shoulders and knotting it at the waist. Clarke picked up her nightgown from the floor and pulled it on over her head. She followed Lexa out and – "Octavia?" 

Octavia shouldered her way into the room, closing the door behind her. Her voice was quiet but her eyes glittered like a flash of steel in the darkness. “Titus is up to something. We have to go now.” A corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. “You guys might wanna get dressed."


	23. Chapter 23

All was quiet in Polis. The moon waned above the sleeping houses. Three girls slipped through its streets like shadows. Clarke’s hood fell off as she ran, and her hair was washed silver. Lexa stared for a moment before pulling the hood back up. 

“Kylos and I followed Titus everywhere the last three days,” Octavia said in a hurried whisper. “He doesn’t get up to much. Stays at home, goes to buy food and some other stuff, makes small talk. His life’s pretty boring life now that he’s ‘retired’.” She made air quotes around the word. “All was quiet the first two nights. But just now, around midnight, someone came up to his house. They wore a cloak and a hood, so I couldn’t tell who it was. I came to get you guys as soon as I could.”

“Did you see their build?” Lexa asked. 

“The cloak hid most of it. They weren’t tall. About my height, and kind of slim. Could be a girl or a guy. Or even a tall kid." 

“We’ll follow them,” Clarke said. “They’re probably one of Ontari’s. They might lead us to where she is, and we can find out what she’s up to." 

"If they haven’t left,” Octavia muttered.

They neared a small house at the edge of the city. A single flickering light in one of the windows. The door creaked open, throwing a slender beam of muted light onto the trodden ground in front of the door. The three girls hid in the shadow-dappled cover of a thin copse of trees. Lexa drew Clarke behind a boulder. Clarke could feel Lexa’s breathing, feel the thud of her heart through her tunic.  

A cloaked figure stepped out from the house. Nothing more than a faceless shadow silhouetted by the faint light coming from the doorway. The light shone off the smooth curve of the back of a head. Braided hair as dark as Octavia’s fell down the shoulders and back. She – it was definitely a female voice, unplaceably familiar – said something to Titus,a featureless outline in the doorway, his face cast in shadow. The words exchanged were too soft to be heard. She turned around, lifting her hood from where it rested shapeless across her shoulders. Just before the shadow of the fabric settled over her head, the light glanced off the Ice Nation scars and her sharp nose and –

“Ontari!”  

Lexa clamped her hand over Clarke’s mouth and muffled her gasp. Her jaw was slack. 

Octavia reacted first. “I’m going to kill her.” She barged out, hands fisted at her sides. Lexa and Clarke grabbed one of her arms. Dragged her back behind the boulder. She spun around, glaring at them, the energy in her eyes crackling. 

“Wait,” Lexa said. Her voice was rough under the calm surface. “Follow her. Don’t let her know. Report back to me." 

Octavia held her gaze for a long time, but obeyed with a resigned nod. Lexa released her arm. She sprinted after Ontari, leaving a trail of rustling dried grass behind her.

The moonlight reflected a glimmer of uncertainty in Lexa’s eyes. Then she let out a breath and the breeze picked up. A cloud shielded the moon and the sparse leaves abovehead rustled in a conspiracy of wordless voices. The glint in her eyes turned steely. She stood, brushed the dirt from her pants. “Come on,” she said. “We’ve got a traitor to deal with.” She offered a hand to Clarke. 

Wordless, the new Flamekeeper took her Commander’s hand. She pulled her to her feet.

Together, they strode up to the house.

Lexa kicked the door open. Titus had barely turned around in surprise before a knife was on his throat and his back was against the wall. “I gave you a chance.” Lexa snarled. “And this is what you chose to do with it? Betraying me again, this time to my enemies? This is an act of war, Titus. I have grounds to kill you right here.” 

“Lexa, listen to me.” Despite being pinned between a knife and a wall, Titus spoke calmly. But his breathing was shallower and a tad shakier than normal. “Think of our people. I’m only doing what’s right for them.” 

“Betraying your Commander? Consorting with a known traitor and enemy?” 

“Ontari has the strength to be Commander. She’s ruthless. That’s the way of our people, it always has been. She understands that blood must have blood, and she won’t stop until she has the blood that is her due.” Titus’s voice had a certain gravitas. The set of Lexa’s brow quivered, as did her knife. But she kept it in place. “You’ve grown weak, soft. Because you don’t have the spirit. Oh, Lexa,” his voice turned gentle as poison. "We both know that the spirit didn’t choose you. You killed your way to it.” 

“You put it in me.” Lexa’s voice was a harsh growl, but there was a hint of pleading in it, a trace of the girl who had once looked up to a wise mentor. “You thought me worthy." 

“Before I knew there was another.” 

Lexa drew in a sharp breath. “So even after all I’ve done – united the Clans, defeated the Mountain Men, made peace in place of war – you still think that Ontari has the Spirit? I’ve proven myself to them  –“ 

“But they’re not Flamekeepers. I have studied the Conclaves of the Hedas before you, I know the mark of the Spirit. And even though you have it under your skin, it sits no deeper than that. The spirit deep within you is still your own. But Ontari has something else in her –“ 

“Ontari is a psychopath.” Clarke cut in. “She’ll kill Lexa and start a war. And you’re helping her do it.”

Titus’s face was emotionless even under Lexa’s smoldering glare. “I do what is right for the good of my people.” 

“You are a traitor.” Lexa said with finality. 

“Then kill me, Lexa. Like you said, you have the right, by our laws.” He spread his arms, like a martyr. “Can you do it?" 

She pressed the blade against his throat. Hard enough to draw a spot of blood. Hesitated. She drew back the knife and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “You’ll come back to the tower with us.” Her eyes darted to Clarke. Who lifted her chin a fraction. A look Lexa herself often wore. Met her gaze with a steady blue one. “This time, you’ll find that I’ve used up all my mercy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you foresaw that Titus would stir up more trouble. Let me know what you think of the latest developments. I love hearing from you! It's a good three quarters of my motivation to write so hit that comment box.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated M for violence (but hey it's nothing we haven't seen in the show).

The room quivered. The shimmering light of half a dozen candles was just enough to keep the shadows from slinking out of the corners.

It was the dark hour just before sunrise. A firm but quiet knock on Lexa’s door. Lexa rose from the couch, her fingers slipping from between Clarke’s. Opened the door to let Octavia slip in. Kylos stood guard outside. 

“She’s got an army,” Octavia said roughly. “Camped in the woods. From Azgeda, Yujleda and Sankru.” 

“How many warriors?” Lexa asked. She stood in the middle of the room, hands behind her back.

“Hundreds – at least seven or eight. Could be up to a thousand.”

Lexa muttered a curse under her breath. “That’s enough to attack Polis. We’ve already lost too many warriors this past year.” Clarke shifted uncomfortably. It was partially her fault. Those burnt at the dropship, the hundreds who died fighting Skaikru, the peacekeeping force slaughtered by Pike and his men.

“Do you think she’ll attack the capital?” Clarke asked from the couch. Octavia sat on the other chair, leaning forward, elbows on her knees.

“Polis’s warriors are the best in all the Clans,” Lexa said, a defensive edge to her voice and the way she tilted her chin. “But we’re outnumbered, even if Trikru fights with us. Octavia has three Clans behind her. Azgeda alone has almost twice the warriors Trikru does. All our allies are too far away to help." 

“Send for backup,” Clarke suggested. “I’ll go to Arkadia tomorrow, Octavia can go to Trikru, and Kylos to Clem in the Mountains.” Octavia nodded, eyes bright. “Gather as many warriors as we can.”

Lexa dipped her head. “Good. Leave at first light. Octavia, go to Arkadia. Kylos to the mountains, and Indra to Trikru.”

“Lexa –“ Clarke began to protest. 

“No.” The Commander's voice was flint-hard. 

“Are you going to stop me?” Clarke challenged. She stood up, chin raised. She took two steps towards Lexa. Getting in her space. Octavia was suddenly interested in a fraying edge of her jacket.  

Lexa’s voice was clipped. Its edges brittle like thin ice. “That’s an order, Clarke.” 

The way her name rolled softly off Lexa’s tongue contrasted against her harsh tone. Clarke wanted to punch her. Her eyes were clouded by a red haze and she snapped. “Am I your prisoner, then? You’re just going to turn the key in the lock and keep me here forever? If you think I could live with that – is that the kind of person you would love?" 

“I can’t risk you.” Something in Lexa's eyes flickered. Like candleflame. In it Clarke saw images come to life. She saw Lexa – younger, carefree. Laughing as a dark-skinned, curly-haired girl threw her arms around her neck, spinning, her eyes sparkling like stars. Her scream when she opened a box to see the head of curls and dried blood and glassy eyes. The thud when she fell to her knees. Shaking. Tears spilling. Clarke saw herself – crumpling in this very room, blood rushing from the bullet wound in her abdomen. Saw Lexa’s hands pressing on the wound, long fingers stained with red blood… and she understood. Not just rationally, not just in her mind. It was the kind of understanding that came from deep in her gut and affected every fibre of her being. 

Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “I’m sorry, but you have to. I told you before, and I’m telling you again – I know the risks of being with you. I’ve accepted them. And you’d better have, too, because I’m not going to be your pet skygirl in Polis. You want me to be your Flamekeeper – so _let me.”_

Tentative, she reached for Lexa. The other girl didn’t flinch at her touch, nor did she soften. She cupped Lexa’s face in her hands, the most precious and beautiful and broken thing she had ever held, but the strongest and most resilient too. "Stop being scared, and start living.” 

The shadow of a smile passed over Lexa’s lips, bittersweet. Her eyes no longer lit up the images of the past, instead illuminating only the present. Only Clarke. “Then there’s no point in me stopping you.” 

“Thank you.” It was a murmur.

“Stay safe.” Lexa breathed in reply. Clarke nodded, the only promise she was able to give. She wanted to kiss Lexa, but instead she stepped back and sat back down on the couch.

The features of the Commander’s face hardened. “What should I do with Titus?” she questioned. Her voice a fraction louder but far more commanding. “Right now he’s locked in a cell.”

“Get rid of him.” Octavia’s reply was immediate and matter-of-fact.

Lexa looked at Clarke, who agreed, “She’s right. You have to kill him.” 

Lexa’s brows drew a fraction closer. “You were the one who persuaded me to let him live.”

“That was against me personally,” Clarke insisted. “Not against you. Right now – this is treason, plain and simple.” 

Lexa nodded. “I agree. And sooner rather than later. Tomorrow” – she looked at Clarke – ”Before you leave for Arkadia.”

* * *

The sun was high in the sky, bringing real heat for the first time in months. Titus was tied to a pole in a square outside the tower, his wrists bound high above his head. The sun beat his bald head to a shine. Warriors, ambassadors, and Polis residents were gathered around. Waiting for their Commander, and for the execution.

She arrived with the dust swirling around her boots, the red sash chasing her heels. War paint black as her own blood. A goddess of vengeance, made of steel and bone. The crowd parted to let her through. She strode into the centre of the circle as though she barely saw them. As though she barely saw anything but the prisoner. Her former Flamekeeper, now a traitor awaiting his punishment.  

Every man and woman held their breath. Lexa sliced through the silence in a voice that was cold and brittle as first frost over the last leaves. Quiet but clear, projecting around the square and into the ears of all who were present. “I didn’t want it to be like this, Titus. I tried to let you live. But you betrayed me again. And this time, I have no mercy left. Only justice.” Her steps towards him were slow. Deliberate. Her face cold and dispassionate as steel. She stopped in front of him. Lifted her chin and looked her former Flamekeeper in the eye. Her eyes never leaving his, she unsheathed a dagger from her belt. The sun glinted off it. In the eyes behind the war-paint, a savage light danced. With delicious slowness, she dragged the blade across his upper arm, lip curled in feral pleasure. Titus grimaced, his jaw clamped tight. Beads of sweat emerged onto his face, each one given a shine by the sun. But he did not flinch, or make a sound, or break his gaze from Lexa’s. 

She stepped back and the fire behind her eyes faded, the impassive Commander once more. 

The crowd had not yet had time to lapse back into stillness when Octavia charged forward from next to Clarke while drawing her knife from her hip. She slashed at Titus’s shoulder. He swallowed the scream, but his gulp was audible and it sent satisfaction thrilling through Lexa like adrenaline. The onlookers cheered. After Octavia, another warrior stepped forward in turn. Octavia returned to Clarke’s side, offering her the dagger, hilt first. “Your turn, Griffin.” 

Clarke took it. Fingers wrapped around the roughened hilt. She waited, watched each of the warriors cut Titus. Listened to the shouts that grew louder each time blood was drawn. The fingers of her free hand touched her abdomen, where under layers of fabric was scar tissue, bumpy and angry red. She tightened her grip on the dagger. It balanced in her hand like it was a part of her. Its cold justice seeped into her muscles. Her white-hot vengeance flowed from blood to blade.

When Wanheda stepped into the circle, none of the others moved so much as a toe out of line. The blood in her ears was steady as a war-drum, giving rhythm and purpose to her strides, muting the shouting around her. She was aware of everyone’s eyes on her. Of Lexa’s gaze, searing. The Commander of Death, come to claim the life that was hers by right. She stepped up to Titus. For the first time, his pain-darkened eyes held fear. Of all those who had stabbed him, it was _her_ judgement he feared. The knowledge of that gave Clarke a rush of vicious triumph. She leaned in close to him and slid her blade through fabric and skin and muscle, exactly where she had been shot. For the first time, Titus cried out. Clarke stepped back, still holding Titus’s gaze. She didn’t have to say the words, it was as clear as though she had shouted it. _I’m here, I’m alive. I won._

She rejoined the circle. The blood still beat in her ears. Kept the shouting around her at bay. She met Lexa’s gaze. The corners of the Commander’s lips were tilted upwards by a minuscule degree, unconscious but fiercely proud. For half a moment they shared a look that spoke louder than any word of the lips, half a moment in the eye of a hurricane. Of quiet, of just the two of them, not Clarke and Lexa but Heda and Wanheda. Two beings, one of ash and bone, the other of fire and blood. Then the moment passed. Clarke’s eardrums were filled not with the pounding of blood but the crowd’s shouts reaching a zenith.

Lexa stepped forward. The crowd’s cries died. They held a collective breath. The Commander drew her sword from the scabbard at her hip. She spread her feet, bent her knees. Drew back her sword arm, the tip of the blade pointed towards Titus’s chest. Dark red, slick on his face, his torso, his limbs. His breathing ragged. Lexa took a deep breath, but her expression was never anything but dispassionate. As though this man didn’t matter, had never mattered to her, any more than a common thief.

But then something rose in her, a flash of memory – Titus’s rough hand and gentle voice comforting her when she was small and homesick for a place beneath the trees, her glow at his praise, his discretion and quiet strength, which she leaned on especially in those early days of ruling and the dark ones after Costia’s death – and she wavered.

Another memory, more recent, rose to the front of her mind. Clarke – bleeding out on the bed where they made love; her hands stained, _cloyed_ with red blood that seemed to spill no matter how hard she pressed down on the wound, the handprints she left on Clarke’s cheek when she cradled her face for what seemed like the last time. Clarke, lying so pale and so still that every shallow breath seemed like a borrowed moment of time. And with that, she set the fire of her vengeance on the remaining fragments of respect and affection for Titus, and burned these last traces to ash.

“ _Yu gonplei ste odon_.” As she spoke the last words a dying man should hear, her voice betrayed no tremor, no hint of her inner struggle. She plunged her blade between his ribs, into his heart. A choking sound came from deep in his throat, his eyes widened in something like disbelief, as though he never believed to the end that she could do it – and he was dead. As his last breath left his lungs Lexa’s own filled with air and she breathed in, deep and heavy. She looked out towards her people. “Justice is done.” 

Even after they removed Titus’s body and the crowd dissipated, drifting back to their tasks and posts, Lexa stayed in the square. Her jaw was tight, eyes hard beneath the war paint. The veins of her neck were tight. Clarke told Octavia that she would join her in a moment. Octavia, understanding, said something about preparing their horses at the stables. 

Clarke went up to Lexa. Unsure if she could touch her, if this was her lover or the Commander, or both. Because Lexa still looked so ruthless, like she was bone and steel personified, more goddess than girl. So she curled her hands at her sides to stop herself from reaching out. “You okay?” 

Lexa moved her head once, more like a jerk than a nod. Wiped her blood-stained sword on the grass and tucked it back into its sheath. 

“I’m just glad the bastard’s dead.” Her voice was rough, vicious.

“Lexa –“ Clarke reached for her hand but Lexa snatched it away. The ache deep inside Clarke hurt more than if Lexa had slapped her. 

“Go to your people, Clarke.” It was an order, cold and clipped. Something injured rose to Clarke’s eyes, but she shoved it back under the surface and turned away. Behind her, Lexa stood alone in the square, chin tilted down, forest-green eyes glaring at the red blood on grass. A striking figure in black and iron-grey, a sash of blood-red tumbling from her shoulder. Behind the warpaint, beneath the hard surface of her eyes, warm-hued memories spun like figures in a dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for violence.
> 
> I hope you guys are satisfied with how this went down This chapter was tough to write but I'm happy with how it turned out.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments last chapter :D . Please tell me what you think of this one.


	25. Chapter 25

The woods were silent except for the clomp of hooves on dead matter. 

“Something’s not right.” Octavia’s voice cut through the eerie quiet like a knife through cream. There was no birdsong even though spring was well on its way. No beat of wings through the air. No rustle of leaf and twig. Not even the scuttle of paws in the undergrowth.  

Then it hit them. The smell of burning. Smoke rising over treetops and through gaps of branches. The two girls exchanged a glance and urged their horses into a gallop. As they got closer, voices shouting in Trigedasleng became audible. Screams. A baby’s shrill wail. Finally they saw it – smoldering heaps of blackened metal and charred wood, men and women dousing them with fire. The injured huddled in groups, burned and soot-covered – some crouched on a low stone wall, others lying on makeshift mats on the ground. 

Clarke swung off her horse, Octavia did the same behind her. “What happened?” she demanded. 

One of the men answered, “They attacked. Hundreds of them. Killed the guard before he could sound the alarm, set fire everywhere, killed the ones who tried to fight.”

“Who were they?”

“Azgeda.” An old woman sitting on the ground spoke up. One of her eyes were swollen shut.  

“Sankru and Yujleda too,” one of her companions added. Half of his arm was blistering with burns. 

“Ontari,” Clarke muttered, her voice on the edge of a growl. Octavia cursed loudly. Something burned deep and indignant in the pit of Clarke’s belly. 

“Where do you need us?” Octavia asked one of the villagers. 

“People are trapped under the collapsed houses.” A tanned man pointed at one of several still-smouldering piles of wood and metal. “We need to get them out." 

“Let’s go.” Octavia moved to join them – but Clarke grabbed her arm. “What?”

“O. We can’t.” 

Octavia’s face immediately contorted into disbelief and anger, her jaw slack before it clenched through words. “What the hell, Griffin?!” 

“We have to get to Arkadia,” Clarke said in an undertone. The words sent a stab of betrayal through her from the inside, but there was no other choice. “We have to warn them." 

Octavia looked about them. At the destruction of the village, plumes of smoke still rising like funeral pyres. The emotions struggled across Octavia’s face for a moment – before settling into grudging understanding. “Fine. You go on ahead. I’ll stay.” 

Clarke didn’t try to persuade her otherwise. She swung back onto her horse and rode towards Arkadia at a gallop, leaving behind her the village that snaked up into the grey sky.

* * *

The hulking meta shell of what used to be the Ark towered over the top of the hill even before Clarke broke from the woods. The first stars and a waxing moon glimmered in the sky above, ultramarine turning navy, scattered clouds like puffs of dandelion. She rode across the valley where the blockade use to stand. Once insurmountable, now fallen. Up the rise of the hill where she had descended with Pike as prisoner.  It felt like another time, a distant threat. One she could contain. Her muscles ached from a day of hard riding, and she looked forward to a hot shower in Arkadia, to ease her complaining muscles and wash off the dust and dirt that clung to her skin and hair.

She broke the crest of the hill. What she saw made her rein in her horse so hard his hooves skidded on the grass. 

At the foot of the hill, separated from Arkadia by a wide, flat plain, were hundreds upon hundreds of Grounders. Dozens of bonfires lit up their camp, glinting harshly off swords and axes. She could see the scarred faces of the Ice Nation directly below her. Further to the East she could make out figures wearing the dun robes of the Sand People. The western wing of the camp was under the shadow of the hill, but she could only imagine that those dark figures were the warriors of the Broadleaf Clan. 

On the other side of the wire fence, Arkadians stood guard at regular intervals along the perimeter, bearing firearms. They were too far for Clarke to see their faces, but her stomach lurched as she imagined who would be there. Bellamy, certainly. Jasper, Miller, Bryan, Harper… her friends, her people. The ones she’s protected – or tried to protect – since the beginning. The ones she hasn’t failed, or at least not yet. Her mom was in there, too, and Raven. Did the Arkadians fight Ontari’s army? What – or who – did they lose? Or have they been at a stalemate on either sides of the fence? It was too late to warn them now. Neither could they respond to Lexa’s call to arms. 

The clang of metal and voices too far away to be heard was jarred by a harsh shout. A warrior on horseback pointed up at Clarke. Clarke didn’t wait to see if they would give chase. She turned and galloped back down the hill, across the valley, and into the cover of the trees. 

It was a clear twilight outside, but under the budding canopy and the criss-cross of branches the forest was a cloudy night, speared by shafts of silver-white light through gaps between branch and twig and leaf. Clarke could barely make out the dirt and broken leaves her horse churned up every time his hooves pounded the earth. Would he misstep and fall? Throw her from the saddle? She thought about slowing down in the darkness – a sharp _whizzz!_ past her ear. The arrow struck the tree trunk next to her. It would have gone halfway through her body had it hit its mark.

Pounding hooves behind her, almost like an echo of her horse’s. She sneaked a glance over her shoulder. Three or four riders, the first had Ice Nation marks on his face. She couldn’t see the others’ faces. Not in the darkening wood and not with her vision motion-blurred. But it was clear that one of the riders was drawing a bow. 

Clarke turned her horse sharply onto a narrow track. Trees loomed on either side of her, rushed out of the gathering darkness as the path twisted through them. She glanced over her shoulder again – her pursuers had to slow down to fit single-file onto the path. The archer had notched another arrow, but stuck in the back of the line, she couldn’t shoot without hitting her comrades. Relief gave Clarke new hope.

Snap! A sharp sting bloomed on her right cheek.She was hit by a branch. She turned to face the front and to duck out of the way of more low-hanging branches and twigs. Some of them caught in her hair, or scratched her neck and shoulders, but they didn’t hurt nearly as much as the unexpected slap on her face. The cut was red-hot, she could feel the blood throbbing beneath her skin. She didn’t dare to let go of the reins to inspect it. 

The end of the tunnel of trees rushed forward to meet her, a patch of slightly lighter blues and greys. The track would soon emerge onto the main road, and in the open Clarke’s worn horse had no hope of outrunning four fresh warhorses and an archer. She would be killed – or captured and _then_ killed. She would be dead either way and – 

The idea was so insane that she rejected it immediately. It would kill her. And yet… if she was going to die either way, she might as well take the risk. She waited until she rounded a particularly sharp bend, out of sight of her pursuers. She slipped her boots out of the stirrups. Let go of the reins to grab the horn of the saddle instead. And pushed herself to the side off the galloping horse. 

Her leg and hip smashed into the ground. She tumbled for what felt like miles and stopped in the shadow of a huge tree. She spat out a mouthful of dirt. She was about to sit up when she heard the pounding of hooves on earth and she froze, flattened herself to the ground. Scared that her blonde hair or pale face in the dark would give her away. The thundering of hooves had passed her by, followed her rider-less horse. All was quiet. Clarke let out a sigh of relief and her ribs and sides screamed in protest. Every muscle in her body hurt. She rolled onto her back and lay there, groaning. “That sucked,” she muttered to herself. 

She sat up and pushed her dirt-streaked hair back. She was safe, at least for now. At least from Ontari’s people. She stood up and the leg she landed on almost buckled. Leaning on the tree trunk for support, she stood upright. Gingerly, she put her left foot on the ground. Let it take her weight. Shaky, but not broken or painful – at least no more painful than the rest of her body. “Okay, you got this,” she said to herself. She took a moment to get her bearings. If there was anything recognizable in these woods, the darkness and the change of the seasons masked it. She was as good as lost. 

Abovehead, just visible behind the criss-crossing branches, the gibbous moon glowed pale. Clarke judged that it was not yet midnight. The moon was in the East, and so was Polis. She didn’t dare travel on the main road, at least not so soon after she had lost her pursuers. She would have to cut through the forest. She began walking in the direction of the moon.

Her progress was slow and limping. In the dark, an Ice Nation guard seemed to be hiding in the shadows of every tree, every step could activate a trap, every beam of moonlight betray her location. Every chirping and rustling of woodland creatures and the breeze like an enemy’s footfall. Every crunch of her boots, however lightly she tried to tread, was preternaturally loud, announcing: “she’s here, the one you’re looking for. Clarke Griffin, the sky-girl. The one who belongs to Lexa.”

She was so busy scrutinizing the shadows of the trees that she didn’t notice the ground she stepped on was softer than normal, until it gave way under her and she tumbled down a slope. She landed on her front on something cold and damp and hard. For the second time that night, she picked herself up, groaning, muscles protesting. The surface under her was definitely _not_ the forest floor. It was too flat, too smooth. Not at all natural. It was _metal._  Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. “No way.”  She hadn’t been here for so long, she had almost forgotten it existed, it seemed like another life – before the Mountain Men, before the Ark landed, before Lexa. A time when all she was concerned about was surviving to see the sunrise. 

The bunker door creaked open on reluctant hinges, so loud that for a panicky moment Clarke thought her pursuers must have heard it and will come looking for her. She held her breath. Waited for the pounding of horses’ hooves and an arrow through her chest. But none came and she released relaxed her lungs in a shaky breath. She slipped into the bunker and the door slammed shut above her. Leaving her alone in the pitch blackness. 

She immediately regretted being so stupid. She didn’t have a flashlight, and in the unnatural darkness her chances of finding a lamp were low. She moved an inch into the bunker. Her foot connected with something. She crouched, felt the object with her hands. A flashlight. They must have left it last time they were here. However many lifetimes ago that was. Its light was wavering, like it couldn’t hold for long, but it was a light and Clarke was grateful for that. Even though she would trade it in a heartbeat for Lexa’s candles. Their goldem glow was warm, alive, unlike the harsh white light that now illuminated the bunker.  

It was just as she remembered it – charcoal and long-dried paint, unused sketch pads brittle with age. Faded photographs of people who planned and prepared but never made it. The narrow bed, sheets still mussed from the last time she was here with Finn. The memory of him left a bitter lump in the back of her throat, and she swallowed hard to get rid of it. Finally, the thing she was looking for – a first aid kit. 

She dressed her cuts – the bloodied knee, scraped elbows, scratches along her arms and the nasty one on her cheek. A purple-black bruise was beginning to blossom across her hip where she had landed. Overall, though, she counted herself lucky. She should have broken more than a few bones when she jumped from a galloping horse.  

Now, though, was the problem of getting back to Polis without one. She could leave now, get there hopefully by morning – but that would mean walking through the night in the forest, and she wasn’t confident she could find her way in the dark and off the main road. Although there were Trikru villages in the forest, the chance of her finding them in the middle of the night were even slimmer than even slimmer than finding Polis. On the other hand, she could stay in the bunker for the night, set out again in the daylight for the nearest village, when the sun made the woods recognisable again. That meant less chance of getting lost, but also more chance of running into anyone out to get her. She should leave as soon as possible, she knew; but she was sorely tempted to stay till morning. The bunker was safe and comfortable, especially at the prospect of leaving again, out into the forest, made unfamiliar by the dark. Besides, she didn’t want to push her lucky any more tonight. 

Clarke got into the bed with relief and a twinge of guilt at her self-indulgence. The bed reminded her of another time she was here, her naked body against a boy's, long ago… but before she could clearly remember Finn again, exhaustion took over her and she sank into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long to update. Here's a long chapter that I hope can make it up to you!
> 
> I'll be pretty busy in the next few months, I started a new job and I'm also applying for grad school. I'll try my best to update asap, which means when I have energy to edit... which is hard because The Defenders is a better way to spend an evening than staring at my mediocre writing lol.
> 
> Last chapter's responses were AMAZING, you guys are the best :D Please let me know what you think of this one!


	26. Chapter 26

 

The sun had dipped below the horizon when Clarke reached Polis. Her clothes and skin were stained with mud and grass, one of the knees of her pants was torn, dirt was embedded under her nails. Her whole body ached and she wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a change of clothes, and to fall asleep curled up against Lexa, preferably in that order.

But there was work to do. Being Wanheda meant that she intimidated the guards enough for them to let her into Lexa’s rooms. She waited for the Commander to arrive.

“Clarke!” 

Before she answer, Lexa’s arms were around her, the sharp point of her chin in the soft part of her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around Lexa’s waist and breathed her in. The knot in her gut unwound a little at the feeling of _home,_ and she relaxed stiff muscles, the lines between them blurring so that her body melted into Lexa’s _._ Lexa loosened her hold only enough to pull her in for a kiss, bottom lip trembling a little.

All day the fear had been gnawing at her, that Clarke was either dead or taken prisoner and tortured. That tomorrow she would be sent back, a decapitated head. She refused to indulge these fears without proof, but they lingered in her subconscious like water demons beneath the smooth surface of a lake. But they were as untrue as they were unfounded. Clarke’s lips were warm and alive and a little chapped under hers. Her hands trailed from her cheeks down the unbroken line of her neck to her shoulders. 

She pulled back, hands framing Clarke’s face, green eyes scrutinizing the cut on her cheek, the scrapes on her face and neck. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Lexa rambled on like she didn’t hear, ”Your horse came back at dawn. I sent out patrols to find you –“ 

“And I was trying not to be found.” Clarke interrupted her. “I’m fine, Lexa,” she stressed once again when the worried look didn’t fade, when brows remained furrowed lips pouted.  “They’re just scratches. Could have been a lot worse.” 

Lexa gave a tiny nod. Traced her fingers from Clarke’s templed down her face, to her chin, her lips, as though she was making sure she was there. Something settled behind her eyes, some ghost calmed. She was composed when she said, “Tell me what happened." Half Commander, half lover. At once asking for a report and a reassurance.

Clarke took a deep breath and drew Lexa to sit down on the couch next to her. “Ontari’s army is attacking Arkadia.” 

A sharp intake of breath, widened eyes. But Lexa didn’t interrupt. She let Clarke continue. She told her about the burnt Trikru village, the army encamped outside Arkadia, the chase through the forest, how she leapt from her horse. “You’re so foolishly brave,” Lexa said shakily, cupping Clarke’s face once again and resting their foreheads together. Spending the night in the bunker, her long trek back in the day, avoiding roads and any sign of riders or people, taking detours at the sound of hooves, but finally, _finally_  making it back to Polis. 

When Clarke was done Lexa leaned forwards, elbows on her knees, her jaw squared, eyes like hardened steel. She was quiet for a long while. Clarke put a tentative hand on the small of her back. She tensed for a second – and though her posture remained tight, she leaned into her touch. When she finally spoke, her voice was a snarl. “I’m going to Arkadia.” 

“Lexa –"

The Commander turned to look at her. “I’m tired of sitting around. Waiting for Ontari to strike. She’s threatening my people. I can’t allow that for a second longer than necessary.” She stood up and paced to the window. Hands joined behind her back, she looked out over the darkened city, illuminated by pinpricks of flame. “We have enough warriors to take on her army. Trikru, Skaikru. And Clem sent word today – the mountain clans will fight for us.” There were flames leaping behind her eyes, the forge in which blades were made. “We’ll take the fight to her – and end it.” 

Clarke strode towards her, grasped her arm. “I’m coming with you.” 

Lexa spun around, a sharp “no!” ready in her throat – and was met with blue eyes just as fierce as her own, just as determined. Eyes in the face of a girl who would not back down. 

“Those are _my people_ , Lexa.” A girl who had gone to hell and back for those she cared about. A girl who would do it again.

It amazed Lexa – the reminder of how much they were alike. How much they would and had sacrificed for their people. How much they would and had done to protect the ones close to their heart. For peace.

Lexa had once promised to treat Clarke’s needs as her own. But Clarke wasn’t a helpless damsel. She was a fighter, a warrior as much as any of the soldiers under Lexa’s command. Her needs were not simply protection or survival. They were past that. Lexa herself was past that. She couldn’t force Clarke to stay in Polis, safe and hidden. She understood now, as well as she understood herself, because Clarke’s needs _were_ her needs, even before she made that vow. What Clarke needed was to fight for those she loved. For what was worth fighting for.

She pried Clarke’s fingers from her arm and took it with both of hers. Their hands joined as though they were at a wedding. “ _Our_ people _._ ” She stressed. “I made a vow, Clarke.” The way she said the name was soft as a prayer. "I have no intention of breaking it – now or ever. We’re stronger together – my people and yours, and…” it was amazing how quickly her Heda persona slipped off, how suddenly and yet smoothly she became a girl, how the line of her shoulder turned from regal to vulnerable. “And me and you.”

Clarke’s expression did not soften, but a light seemed to shine from deep inside her, reaching out through her skin and lifting the corners of her lips into a smile. As though the promise of love did not make her weak or compromised, but filled her with power and strength. 

Lexa smiled, too, that rare, private smile reserved only for the most intimate of moments, reserved only for Clarke’s eyes. She would no longer deny Clarke the chance to live, nor deny herself the chance to love. Not when together, they had found something worth living for.

* * *

Preparations were made throughout the night. Orders given to a coming and going tide of Grounders, so many that Clarke couldn’t keep up with their names and faces or what they were to do. Warriors who would make up the army, and those who would stay and protect Polis. Generals, advisors, healers. Horses, armor. Arrows fletched, swords and daggers sharpened. Flags hoisted, banners painted. Word was sent to Clem in the mountains to the west, to come at once to Arkadia with all the warriors she could get.

When all the commands were given, and all the warriors and generals and blacksmiths had left, a young boy who had lingered at the back of the audience slipped to the front. He bowed once in front of the Commander on her throne and her Flamekeeper at her side. “Heda." 

“Aden.” Lexa’s brow creased as she addressed the first of her Nightbloods. “What is it?” 

He tried to keep his composure, to be as calm as Lexa always seemed to him, but he couldn’t stop the subtle ripple of emotions across his face, the light that shone from deep in his eyes. “Let me go too,” he pleaded. “I want to fight, Heda. For you.” His gaze shifted to Clarke, next to Lexa. “Both of you." 

Lexa stood and descended from her dais, until she stood in front of the boy. She placed a hand on his the boy’s shoulder. “I know,” she said. “I know you’re brave and strong and capable. Which is exactly why I need you to stay here.” 

Aden’s eyes narrowed, like he wanted to argue. 

“I leave Polis in your command,” she continued. “If I die, I need you to be Commander.” 

“But the Spirit –“ 

“Will choose you.” Lexa finished for him. “And you _will_ find it, Aden.” 

He lowered his eyes, thinking hard. Then he looked up. Met Lexa’s gaze. And nodded once, firmly. “I promise, Heda.”

The corners of Lexa’s lips flitted up a minuscule degree. “Then I leave Polis in good hands.”

* * *

Dawn broke at the horizon like a cracked egg, golden-yellow spilling into white, lightening the marine blue sky. The last stars glittered, lonely and defiant, far above the tree-tops. The waning moon hung low over the western skyline. 

The army was a single thundering mass of multiple legs and bodies, of braided hair and tossing manes, riders and horses indistinguishable in the dust of the world in rebirth. Warriors on foot followed behind the riders, marching as one, swords swinging with each step, spears piercing the sky.

At the front was the Commander. Black war paint over her eyes, hair pulled back in a complex web of braids to reveal her high, smooth forehead. Her face impassive. A being born from war and flame, from the very ashes of the world, her blood dark as her wrath, dark as her vengeance. At her right was another girl, one of flesh and red blood, but just as unearthly, in the way that the sun was different from the earth.  Her golden hair was faintly luminous in the pre-dawn light, her blue eyes heralded a midsummer’s day so long that night seemed like it would never descend. She was made of something brighter than the warriors behind her and the Commander at her side, brighter but no less strong, just as the sun was no deadly than the earth. 

Side by side they rode, war and death, earth and sky. Commander and Flamekeeker, Heda and Wanheda. 

They rode to war. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are really getting into the final stage of this story now, and the plot is gaining momentum!
> 
> I think this chapter was a turning point for Lexa, and a step towards the balance of power in Clexa's relationship. Because up to now the power has been imbalanced towards Lexa. Of course she respects Clarke and sees her as an equal, but she has so deeply felt the need to protect Clarke from harm, and she's used her authority as Heda to do that. But now, she's realized that what Clarke needs is not protection, it's someone to back her up when she has to put herself in dangerous situations as a leader, for the sake of her people.
> 
> Also ngl, I really like that last moment where they're riding all badass to war.
> 
> I love hearing from you, the response for the last couple of chapters was awesome!  
> Comments are the best way to remind me that this fic exists even though I've finished writing and put editing on hold because of real life things like a new job and a break up.


	27. Chapter 27

“It’s time.” 

Clarke looked up from the map when Lexa entered the tent. The flap that covered the doorway swayed in her wake. 

“I’ve spoken to Jedon,” Lexa continued, her voice calm and measured. “He’s coming with us.” 

“Are you sure that talking to Ontari is a good idea?” Clarke asked, deepening the crease in the middle of her forehead, more often present than not these days.

“I _have_ to,” Lexa insisted. There was a look in her eyes told Clarke that this was one of those infuriating times when she was more Commander than partner, and pushing her for reasons she refused to divulge would do nothing but get on both their tempers. So she simply nodded, biting her lip. She got up and walked around the table. Leaned back on it so she faced Lexa. 

“We’re just going to walk up to her camp? Demand an audience?” 

“If she has any honour, she’ll agree,” Lexa answered. “I expect they’ll make us hand over our weapons – which is why I have _these_.” She flicked her wrists. A pair of short blades were on Clarke’s throat. Clarke drew in a sharp breath. Lexa smirked like a girl showing off her newest trick. She stowed the blades back into her sleeves. “I had them made recently,” she explained, “the mechanism took a little practice to master, but it’s easy once I got it.” 

Clarke laughed softly. She pulled Lexa closer with a hand on her hip. “Ready to take on all of Ontari’s army, then?" 

“Yes, with a single pair of blades,” Lexa deadpanned, her own hand coming to rest on the small of Clarke’s back.

“What if she doesn’t have honour?” Clarke blurted out.

Lexa hesitated before she answered. “I left orders for the army to attack. If we don’t make it back by dawn.” She cupped Clarke's cheek. Clarke leaned into the gentle touch, so out of place in a war yet so right. In a tent on the eve of battle. Where everything started between them. “I know there’s no point in asking you to stay?” she tilted it up into a question, hopeful but forlorn. 

Clarke shook her head and answered firmly. “Not a chance.” She slipped a hand behind Lexa’s head and planted a kiss on her lips. Where their first kiss had been tentative, shy, a _maybe_ , this one was certain, steady, a clear _yes. Yes, I will go to the end with you, fight for you, die for you. I will_ live _for you._

When she pulled back Lexa wore a tiny smile. Though a part of her, a protective instinct, wished that Clarke would stay behind and stay safe, another part, a larger part, was glad that Clarke would be by her side as they entered the enemy’s camp. She could protect her no more than protect the trees from wind and rain.  She had come to accept that, because that was what drew her to Clarke in the first place, that fierceness inside her that. So she said, “Help me with my war paint?” 

Clarke answered with a smile that was like the sun after rain. It came from a warmth deep within her, because she recognized the gravity of the gesture. “Of course, _Heda._ ” She gave Lexa a quick kiss. She took the slim bundle of leather from the table. Untied the string and procured a stick of charcoal. Just like the ones she’s sketched with so many times before. But she'd never painted on skin before, except for when she’d drawn on her arm with a pen, when she was bored in class. In literally another world, another life.

She sat Lexa down and knelt in front of her. “Close your eyes.” Lexa obeyed without a moment’s hesitation. Clarke wished she could use the stick of charcoal in her hand to capture this moment – the mighty Commander before she put on the mask that made her look fiercer and older than her years. Her eyes closed, breathing even. Vulnerable. Trusting the girl before her. Trusting her to see her as she was, without any of the layers, invisible or tangible, that she wore as armor. Trusting her to help her put on the mask she needed to face the world. This was Lexa as she was – soft, trusting, and Clarke loved this side of her just as much as she was drawn to the stoic and ruthless warrior.

Clarke took one last, long look, memorizing exactly how Lexa looked. Then she put charcoal to skin and sketched in the outlines around Lexa’s eyes. She filled them in with the flat of the stick. Darkened by putting charcoal on, again and again. Smudged her strokes with a finger to even the coloring and to make the smooth edges ragged. “There.” When those green eyes opened, they looked at her from behind a mask. But it was Lexa’s tiny smile on lips that whispered a “thank you.” Clarke watched the _Heda_ mask settle on Lexa’s face like an accustomed weight, saw that expressive brow turn impassive, noted the shutter that seemed to fall behind the windows of her eyes, keeping in the attachments and emotions that made her vulnerable, made her human. “Come,” the Commander said. “We have a usurper to negotiate with.” 

* * *

Wordless, the trio – Lexa in the middle, Clarke to her right and Jedon to her left – hiked up the hill that formed a barrier between the two armies. They descended the long slope on the other side and approached the camp. The pair of Ice Nation guards outside were even broader than Jedon, and at least as tall. They spotted them as soon as they began their descent. One guard shouted in Trigedasleng as they approached. The other tightened his grip on his spear and pointed the end at them.

Lexa held up a hand, a pacifying gesture that also reinforced her authority as Commander – she bowed to no one, relinquished power to none. “We come to speak, not fight. I will see your leader.” 

The guards looked at each other. The blond warrior left in the direction of the largest tent. The guard with long dreadlocks pinned the trio with narrowed eyes, as though he was ready to catch them should they try anything. Behind him, Ice Nation warriors were casting glances at once suspicious and curious towards them. Some stopped what they were doing to watch. A few younger ones – including a freckled boy who couldn’t possibly be older than fifteen – were almost gaping in awe. They had never seen the Commander before. She was still a mystic figure to them, more of legend than of flesh and bone. 

By the time the blond warrior returned, he had to shoulder through a gathered group of twenty or so warriors, some who were peeking under the pretense of carrying out their tasks, others who had given updiscretion and were openly staring. “Leave your weapons here,” he said. Lexa was the first to hand over the sword at her hip and the dagger strapped to her thigh. Her hidden blades still secure inside her sleeves, as was, Clarke suspected, another knife in her boot. Clarke gave him her gun and dagger. Jedon parted with the broadsword and half a dozen knives he pulled from his sleeves, inside his coat, and boots.

The way the guard’s lip curled made Clarke’s stomach twist, like he knew they were in for something unpleasant, and that he enjoyed the fact. The blond one said gruffly, “come with me.” They followed him, past the guard, past the crowd. A teenage girl reached out as though she wanted to touch Lexa’s hair, but forcibly drew back her hand before she made physical contact. 

They made their way through the camp. The hair on the back of Clarke’s neck prickled. The eyes watching them grew hostile as they neared the centre of the encampment. She was aware of how many swords and axes gleamed in the light of the torches. Not even Lexa’s blades, clever as they were, could save them if the army attacked. Clarke sneaked a glance at Lexa. Her spine was straight, shoulders back. Chin tilted up, she looked straight ahead like she couldn’t see the glaring eyes or polished blades around her, like she was above it all. Even though she was their enemy, she looked as though she could command this army, too, at a single word. Clarke swallowed and schooled her own features into an imitation of Lexa’s marble mask. 

They arrived at the largest tent, and the guard lifted the flap. “ _Heda._ They’re here.” A heat wave flushed from Clarke’s chest to her temples at the title. There was a large lump in her throat that she almost couldn’t breathe around. She glanced at Lexa. Her jaw clenched with a minuscule jump of muscle, her brow drew a fraction closer together, but otherwise she betrayed no emotion.  

“Enter.” The drawl was insolent and Clarke wanted nothing more than to charge in and punch her in the face. But there was more at stake here, and she contented herself for the time being with clenching her fists at her sides and following Lexa into the tent. 

Ontari sat on a makeshift throne, a crude imitation of the one Lexa had sat on the first time Clarke met her. Ontari’s legs were crossed, one arm thrown carelessly over the arm of the armrest, the other propping up her chin like she was bored. She wore no warpaint, her eyes were instead framed by the angular scars of the Ice Nation. “Lexa. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She smirked. “Or are you here to surrender?” 

“There are better ways,” Lexa quipped coolly, “to take my place than to attack Skaikru.”

“ _Jus drein jus daun,_ ” Ontari replied, “You took my right hand, I’ll take out yours – and _everything_ to do with her.” She directed a wicked smile at Clarke. “Besides, Titus seems to think that’s the best way to get your attention, and judging by the fact that you’re standing here, unarmed – I’d say that he was right.” 

“You attack any one of the Clans in my Coalition, you attack me.” 

Ontari rose from her throne lazily – _too_ lazily. In an exaggerated imitation of the poised way Lexa carried herself in court. “Tell me, _Heda_ ,” she drawled, sarcastic as she delivered the title, “what’s to stop me from killing you and your guard and your… pet,” her lip curled as she glanced at Clarke, “right now?” 

“And risk the attack of the ten clans who don’t recognize you as Commander?” Lexa gave a hollow scoff. “I thought not." 

Ontari’s smug smirk was replaced by a scowl, like a spoiled child bested at their favorite game. “I have as much right to be Commander as you. I was denied by chance to fight in the Conclave, the right given to me by my Nightblood.” 

“That’s Titus speaking, Ontari. Not you.” Lexa’s voice was calm, like she was teaching a lesson to one of her Nightbloods. A flicker of doubt in Ontari’s eyes struck Clarke with the realization that she was young – younger than Lexa, and no older than Clarke herself. 

“You never listened to his advice,” Ontari retorted. “You always were weak.” Her eyes landed on Clarke and her confidence mounted, her voice losing the petulant edge, becoming mocking instead. “I thought you were above love, Lexa. Thought you knew better than that.

“Titus always warned you, he told me, but you never learned that particular lesson. It was Nia who taught you that one, wasn’t it?”

Something awoke in the composure of Lexa’s face, a spark that ignited behind that cool green gaze.

“I was there, you know,” Ontari continued in sadistic triumph, “when they brought in your girl. The brown-skinned one, with the pretty curls. I heard her scream when they tortured her, and I was the one who held her down when Nia cut off her –“ 

In a flash Lexa pinned Ontari against the back of the throne, blade against her throat. “You say one more word about her and I’ll kill you the same way you killed her.” She snarled around clenched teeth. A fire burned in her eyes, made brighter and more severe by the black war paint.

“You know what Nia would have done, had she been born a Nightblood? She’d have challenged me long ago. Instead of sneaking around behind my back, attacking clans that don’t have a third of the fighters Azgeda does. Are you brave enough, bold enough, to do what she would have done? Or are you going to keep on being a coward, killing unarmed girls who can’t fight back?” She shoved Ontari hard against the throne and stepped back herself. She breathed hard with the exertion of controlling herself. Her eyes smouldered, nostrils flared, teeth bared. She was a goddess of vengeance, thirsty for the blood owed her.

“You think you’re so honourable,” Ontari spat, rubbing her neck, “and yet you hide your knives like a thief. Very well. I challenge you as _Heda._ Let’s prove once and for all that I’m better than you.” 

Lexa finished stowing her blades beneath her sleeves. With them, the fire of her wrath disappeared, leaving only a low simmering, bubbling heat beneath her skin. She tilted her chin up. “I accept your challenge.” 

“It will be a Conclave.” There was something manic behind Ontari’s eyes. “Solo combat. Nightblood against Nightblood.” 

“Until only one of us is left,” Lexa confirmed. “I’ll see you at dawn tomorrow.” 

“May the Spirit choose its successor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to update again. Work is so tiring and I've also been busy with some personal stuff.  
> I'm really proud of this chapter, I think it's my favourite one for this entire fic.  
> I'd be disappointed if you didn't tell me what you think about this chapter. And I need to be reminded that this fic exists and people are reading it.


	28. Chapter 28

They left Onatri’s camp with staring eyes pinned on their backs. Up the hill that formed a natural border, down the slope on their side. Clarke did not utter a single syllable all the way back. It was the ominous kind of silence, like a storm gathering clouds about it, preparing for a downpour. Lightning sparking, ready to lash out. 

The clouds burst as soon as they were back in their tent. Words and anger spewed out in a torrent. “Did you even think before you accepted her challenge? Or were you so blinded by your damned pride? She was goading you, Lexa! And you rose to it exactly how she wanted!”

“Clarke –“

“Single combat? What’s the point of having an army if you’re not going to use it?” 

“I won't spill the blood of any more of my people!” Lexa snapped. 

“So you’ll spill yours instead?” 

Anger simmering in her eyes, jaw tight, Lexa answered. “Yes. If it can stop this war." 

“And if you die?”

Lexa hesitated. But her eyes were hard. “You’ve seen me fight. Don’t you have faith in me?” 

“Of course I do!” Clarke was indignant. “And so do Clem, and Jedon, and all the clans who stand behind you. The ones who came together for you. What happens to them if you die? What happens to our people? To Skaikru, to Aden, and – and _me_? It’s not just your life that you gambled, Lexa. It’s all of ours. Did you think about what would happen if you died?”

The anger in her blue eyes was burning out, revealing something desperate in their embers. It tugged at Lexa’s heart. Clarke’s stature seemed to shrink as her temper faded. Her shoulders slumped slightly forward, hands hanging by her sides. She spoke in a low voice, like she was confiding the deepest secret of her heart to the hushed tent, and to the girl who stood before her with spirited eyes and a tangled mane of braided hair. “I can’t lose you, Lexa.”

With those words, the last vestiges of Lexa’s anger crumbled and scattered like ashes in the wind. She turned on her heel. Her coat swept about her in an arc. Took Clarke in her arms and framed her face in her skeleton-gloved hands. “You won’t,” she vowed. Green eyes glowed bright behind the black mask of her warpaint. "I have too much to live for.” 

There was a tremor in Clarke’s hands, barely noticeable but there all the same. Her touch on Lexa’s face that was so light that it was as though she feared that the girl before her, this being of war and vengeance, would turn to smoke at the touch of a mortal. But she did not. Lexa was there, solid and earthly under her fingertips. 

Lexa kissed Clarke’s forehead. At the touch of lips on skin, a sort of warmth burrowed into Clarke and took root in the base of her heart. Not physical heat but the warmth of a promise, unspoken but tasted. 

Lexa drew back and took a damp rag. She brought it to her face to wipe off her warpaint – but stopped. She turned around to face Clarke. Beneath the fierce war paint, her expression was open and vulnerable. She extended her arm, offering the rag to Clarke. A ceasefire and an invitation.

Clarke took the cloth from Lexa. Their fingers brushed for a split second. She sat Lexa down on the same stool where she’d put on the warpaint. She drew the rag over Lexa’s skin with the gentlest of touches, removing the charcoal she herself painted on earlier that night, in exactly the same spot. The rag was stained. She cleaned the warpaint, black as Lexa’s blood, from her face, until all traces of it was gone, and with it the goddess that so often walked in Lexa’s skin.

When Lexa opened her eyes to look at Clarke, they were tender and full of something unspoken. Something that spoke so much more than words. Clarke’s hand no longer shook as she traced the outline of Lexa’s face – hairline, temples, eyes. Cheekbones, straight jawline, full lips. Her hands came to rest on the other girl’s nape, and she fingered the lose strands of hair escaped from her braids. With her own hands on Clarke’s hips, Lexa pulled her down onto her lap, and they faced each other, chests just touching, faces intimately close.

“You’ll be there tomorrow?” Lexa whispered. Vulnerable and uncertain. As though Clarke had not already decided, long before the choice was even presented.

“I’ll be watching.” Clarke promised. She undid Lexa’s intricate braids and ran her fingers through the rich curls. Once, twice, from hairline down the back of her head to the top of her spine, until all her tangles were smoothed out. She draped her hands over the scar and tattoo on the back of Lexa’s neck. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” Her brows drew close together, creasing her forehead. “I need your spirit to stay where it is."

“I promise.” Lexa said with an unconscious raise of her eyebrows, her face relaxed and unlined. 

“Fight her as hard as you can. Fight, and win… and come home. To me." 

Lexa cradled Clarke’s face as though she had never held anything as dear, as though she was holding – not something her life depended on – but her beating heart itself. She pulled Clarke’s forehead down to rest against her own. “I will.” She brushed her nose against Clarke’s. “I’ll fight for you.” 

"And for our people.” 

“You _are_ my people,” Lexa responded, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile and close her eyes when Lexa’s lips pressed against hers in the most tender and reverent of kisses. Her arms snaked tighter around Lexa’s neck, holding her closer, close enough to eliminate oxygen or the need for it. Each new kiss was deeper, more insistent. More sure of what they shared between them, the promises they made each other without ever forming the words.  

It could be their last night together. And while they didn’t say it out loud, their bodies knew. Each rock of hips and breathless gasp, each caress of reverent hands and lips and tongues, said for them all that remained unspoken, all that they didn’t have time or breath to say. If this was their last night, it would be spent loving each other, in touches and kisses and whispered words. Whatever came tomorrow, this moment was theirs, forever. 

* * *

It was dark except for the flickering flames of the few candles still burning, and they cast a muted glow around the tent. Lexa's delicate features were outlined in a warm light, eyes bright even in the darkness, full of adoration. She was so beautiful, it made Clarke’s breath catch in her throat.

The thought came again. She’d held it in her mind for a while, rolled it over like a marble between fingers. She didn’t realize that it became words on her lips. “I want to be yours.” 

“You _are_ mine, Clarke,” Lexa returned, a tiny, confused crease appearing in her forehead. “Always.”

Clarke smiled at the affirmation, but she elaborated, “Tattoo me.” She’d had the idea for a while, but she had never found the right time to bring it up. But this could be her last chance, _their_ last chance. Their lives were already bound, she wanted to tie their spirits, too, in ink beneath skin. Lexa had already left a permanent mark on her heart, it was only right she should leave one under her skin, too. Proof that she was here, and that they belonged to each other.  

Understanding shifted, settled behind Lexa’s eyes. She kissed her. “I am yours, Clarke kom Skaikru.”  

Clarke picked up the charcoal. Its point hovered above the paper. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Breathed in candle-scent and night air and the smell of _them_ , of her and Lexa. The point of the charcoal pressed onto the page and something deep within her spirit poured forth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter.  
> Life has been a little rough but things are hopefully going to be okay now.
> 
> Here is where I usually promise to update soon but you know what, let's cut the bullshit.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! comments make me update faster.


	29. Chapter 29

The sky was a delicate shade of pink, bleeding into hazy blue-grey. Mist still clung to the top-most branches of budding trees, but otherwise the day promised to be clear. The sun rose over the forest, Arkadia, and the two camps that lay between them. Both camps, however, were empty. Their inhabitants were crowded on the hill that separated them. Lexa’s troops on one side and Ontari’s on the other. 

In their centre was a makeshift arena. Its edges were unmarked other than by soldiers wielding spears, standing at a uniform distance. The crowd pushed against them for a better view, but dared not cross the invisible barrier. In the arena two Commanders faced each other. Lexa was tall and regal, red cape sweeping from her shoulder-guard to pool at her feet, warpaint across her eyes darker than it ever had been before, a foreshadowing for the blood she was about to spill. Her hair was held back in the intricate braids Clarke wove that morning. She was stoic. Embodied by something unearthly that called for vengeance and justice and blood, her chin was lifted like she didn’t care for the shouts of the mortal about her. Ontari’s hair was was in a single, weaving braid, not as elaborate as Lexa’s, but functional and secure. Her face was bare, for the scars of Azgeda were warpaint enough for her. She took in the cheers of “ _Heda_ ” as though they were all meant for her, bathed in the glory that was meant to be hers from the moment she was born with black blood. 

Clarke was at the front of the crowd. Octavia was next to her, hands clasped tightly with Lincoln’s. Close behind were Bellamy and Raven, Jasper and Monty, Harper and Monroe. Those who had been with her from the beginning, here to see it through to the end. Clarke was glad for their presence. Roan stood near the front, too, on Lexa’s side of the arena. Making clear to which Commander his allegiance lay.

Some words were spoken, that the last Nightblood standing would be the true Commander. By who Clarke didn’t know, because she couldn’t hear them. All she could focus on was Lexa. How proud and fierce she looked, how her face betrayed no emotion, how the warpaint seemed to become part of her skin, soaked into muscle and bone until it embodied her. Clarke was aware of her heart’s beat in her chest, how the skin above it throbbed, still stinging with her new tattoo. Without thinking, she clutched at the material of her top over it. 

As though she felt the touch, Lexa turned slightly and met Clarke’s eyes. The corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly. She gave a tiny nod, and for a second looked so human. _I’m glad you came._ The words echoed back at her from the last time they were in this situation, and the words from last night, when they knew they would be here. _I’ll fight for you._ Clarke returned the nod, trying to tell her that she believed in her, that she was waiting for her. It was a moment of stillness, of just the two of them. 

And then the roar of the crowd kicked in. Lexa broke her gaze from Clarke’s. She was once again the Commander. She and Ontari strode to opposite sides of the arena. Lexa removed her spaulder, the cape sweeping the dew-wet grass as she did. She handed it to Kylos,  He, in turn, presented her with her sword, the same time as an Ice Nation warrior behind Ontari offered her a sword. Ontari gave a shout and drew her sword so fast that the blade scraped against its sheath _._ She twirled around, sword swinging in a wide arc, and bent her knees into a fighting stance. The crowd’s cheers grew louder.   

Lexa turned her back on her challenger. She drew her sword from its scabbard in a slow, deliberate movement. She did not spin or twirl it as Ontari did, instead stood with her feet apart, sword balanced in both hands in front of her face, its point reaching to the sky. She stood with a stillness and poise that was unearthly. The moment seemed to stretch out, the crowd held its breath. 

Ontari charged. Screaming and swinging her sword as fast as she could. Lexa side-stepped the attack, Ontari swerved just as quickly and Lexa blocked the next blow. Ontari was relentless. She swung again and again, and though each time Lexa parried the blow, she was driven back. Her feet were secure and balanced, but each step took her closer to the edge of the arena. Then she spun to the side and in towards Ontari. Steel met with a harsh clang, and Ontari was the one forced against the edge of the crowd. She dodged Lexa’s next blow and skirted along the edge of the arena. Lexa followed, blades clanging in a song of metal tongues, feet shifting and stepping in a rhythmic dance. A flurry of quick slashes and blocks, each parrying the other’s blow and striking in turn. 

This was just warm up. They were testing each other, learning each other’s strengths and weaknesses while covering their own. Ontari was all fury, all speed, so that all Lexa had to do was block her attacks long enough to wear her out before moving in for the strike. That wouldn’t take long. Her thrusts were already less hard then they were when the fight began, her blocks shakier. 

Lexa struck hard and she just managed to deflect the blow. Lexa swung low – but Ontari slipped to the side, blade slashing Lexa’s upper arm, black blood flying in its wake. Lexa jumped back just quickly enough to avoid the relentless hack across her chest. Clarke’s heart jumped into her throat. A great “oooh” went up from the crowd.  

First blood drawn. But Lexa didn’t stop to let Ontari savour the minor victory. She attacked without hesitation, sword catching the sun’s light as she swung it at Ontari. She blocked it but Lexa anticipated it and kicked at her shin. She dropped to her knees with a cry. Lexa swung again, a death blow, but Ontari rolled out of the way and was on her feet in one smooth motion. 

There was a lull as the opponents stood half an arena apart. Waiting. Daring the other to strike first. Lexa flipped her sword over her hand and gripped the hilt again, blade in front of her. Ontari was less showy now, more careful. Drew her sword back, ready to swing or block. The two circled each other, as though daring the other to strike.

They rushed towards each other at once. Steel clanged several times in quick succession. Then one blocked, or they both attacked. Their swords bit into each other’s, forming a cross. Both pushing as hard as they could, two hands gripping each hilt, four pairs of feet digging into grass and the mud beneath. Lexa’s teeth gritted. She scraped her sword higher, trying to tilt the blades towards her opponent, but Ontari was strong and she held her place. It was a stalemate. Neither had the brawn to overpower the other. Lexa took a risk. She let her sword get pushed back while she ducked and slipped to the side. Ontari fell forward at the sudden lack of resistance, sword cutting through thin air. Lexa spun _towards_ Ontari, into the reach of her arms, too close to be in danger of her sword. Straightened and elbowed her in the face. 

The crowd screamed. The challenger dropped her sword with a grunt, both hands covering her nose, from which black blood flowed freely. But before Lexa could follow with another attack Ontari slammed her head hard against Lexa’s face. Lexa gave a cry as she was knocked onto the ground, winded. Her face was sprayed with blood the colour of her warpaint. Ontari let go of her nose, mouth and chin black, and kicked Lexa in the gut. Lexa doubled over and Ontari kicked her again. Lexa rolled into a fetal position. When Ontari kicked again Lexa grabbed her ankles and she crashed onto the ground. 

Lexa leapt onto her and pummelled her, each blow landing solidly, leather gloves on skin and flesh. Ontari blocked the blows with her arms over her face. Then she bucked and Lexa fell off her once again.  The pair grappled on the grass, rolling over and over, Lexa on top one second, Ontari the next. A right hook to her jaw jarred Lexa, and before she could recover Ontari’s hands were on her throat. She scrabbled at her opponent’s wrists, but she wouldn’t release her hold. She bucked but Ontari was on top of her, holding her down with her own weight.  

She needed air. She gasped but Ontari’s grip was tight. The crowd was still screaming, but all she could hear was the blood in her ears. Her vision was getting blurry. She turned her head to the side, to buy an extra second of time, and her gaze landed on the swords, out of reach, halfway across the arena. And behind them, in the crowd – Clarke. The only point of clarity in her quickly fading sight. Blue eyes wide with fear, lips fallen open in shaky breaths. She was tensed, and though she made no move to run, Bellamy was holding one of her arms and Raven the other, as though they worried she would tear into the arena. 

Amidst the roar of the crowd, and the thudding blood in her own skull, Lexa heard it – _I can’t lose you._ The words from last night, as clearly as though they were still in the tent, darkness kept at bay by candlelight and silence broken only by their voices. Her own reply, the promise she made –  _You won’t. I have too much to live for._

Lexa concentrated. Her body was struggling to fill her lungs with air, to survive. She forced her scattered senses to focus, not on how to survive but on what it would take to _live._ She brought her knee crashing into Ontari’s back. The pressure about her throat disappeared. As did the weight above her.

Lexa gasped. Precious air filled her lungs. She didn’t allow herself the luxury of catching her breath. She was alive and that was enough. There would be time to breathe later. She rolled onto all fours and scrambled to her feet just as Ontari did. She blinked away the remaining black spots in her vision and locked eyes with the other girl. They began to circle each other again. Lexa’s eyes flicked towards the abandoned swords – but Ontari noticed. Lexa wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but both hurtled towards the swords. Ontari was a little closer and she would get there first. If she was armed before Lexa it would be over. Lexa threw herself at the nearest sword, landed on her stomach and her hands fastened around the pommel – rolled onto her back swinging the sword up – 

Straight into Ontari’s side. Her eyes went wide. Black blood dripped between the fingers pressed against her flank. Beads of it rolled down the blade of the sword, onto Lexa’s hands. Ontari fell onto her knees and scrambled backwards. Lexa got to her feet. She was panting heavily. In two or three steady steps she was towering over Ontari. 

The challenger stopped struggling. She forced herself to her feet with difficulty. She would die with dignity, a warrior on her own two feet, not a coward on the ground. Lexa respected that. “Get on with it, then.” Ontari said through gritted teeth. 

“ _Yu gonplei stei odon._ ” Lexa said in response, loud enough for the onlookers to hear. The hardness of her gaze softened a little, and she said quietly, only for Ontari’s ears. “You fought well, _Natblida._ ” 

Ontari lifted her chin higher. Lexa swung her sword back, and sliced across Ontari’s throat. Blood gushed onto the ground, staining green grass black. With a thud, Ontari fell onto the ground. And Lexa was the only one left standing. The last Nightblood of that generation, the one true Commander.

The crowd went wild, cheering “ _Heda_ ” and “Lexa”. Young men and women went starry-eyed, screaming “ _ai Heda_ ” in a frenzy. She was everything a Commander should be – a ferocious warrior, a fair leader, woman and goddess both. Half flesh and heart, half black blood and smoke. Lips not quite curling upwards, eyes burning with a fierce, triumphant light, she met Clarke’s gaze. Saw her smiling so wide her face almost split into two, fist tight over her heart. Lexa felt her own chest tingle at where her new tattoo was, almost like she felt the other girl’s touch. 

She spoke over the cheers of the crowd, her voice a hint raspy from being choked. “If anyone here doesn’t recognize the Spirit of the Commander in me, let them step forth and challenge me.” 

None stepped forth, no one issued a challenge. The cheers had united into a rhythmic, ritualistic chant of “ _Heda! Heda!_ ” 

And then a voice spoke. “Skaikru recognizes Lexa kom Trikru as the Commander.” It was Clarke. Her face almost glowing with pride and love and respect. Lexa dipped her head at her, the same sentiments shining from her eyes. 

“As does Azgeda and its king.” It was Roan who spoke next. “All those who don’t,” he added with a menacing look at a few of Ontari’s warriors, “will face execution or banishment.” 

One by one, representatives of the other Clans declared their loyalty to Lexa. Trikru, the Lake People, Shadow Valley, Glowing Forest. Lexa acknowledged each one of them with a dip of her head, each time exchanging a proud look with Clarke. With each pledge she seemed to stand straighter and grow taller, a light within her shining brighter. 

But some warriors slipped away, trying not to draw attention to themselves but there were noticed anyway. Warriors from the Desert and Broadleaf Clans. They had taken a gamble on Ontari, and her defeat cost them their power and honour both. There was nothing left for them in the Coalition, nothing but death, banishment, punishment, shame. Lexa noticed, but in the moment she didn’t care. Let them run away like dogs with tails between their legs. Her reign was stronger without them. 

When all the remaining Clans have spoken, the crowd once again took up the chant: " _Heda! Heda!"_ Clarke's heart felt like it had swelled up with pride to fill her whole chest. She wanted to run to Lexa, throw her arms around her neck and kiss her. But this was Lexa's moment, hers to savour and to remember. She deserved this – her people, _all_ her people, truly recognizing her for the leader she was. It was impossible to distinguish Skaikru members from the crowd, or to pick out the Azgeda mingled with Trikru. Clarke exchanged a look with Lexa, her face shining with pride. _This_ was what peace looked like. This was the future, and it was both of theirs, together. Clarke knew that the warm, triumphant thing inside her chest was hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been shit lately but hopefully things are looking up.
> 
> I had so much fun writing this chapter. I love action scenes and hope I did the climax of this story justice! 
> 
> Let me know what you think, every comment I receive is the highlight of my day and a HUGE confidence boost (and lord knows how badly I need that). So leave a comment, let me know what you liked (or not!) about this chapter, or literally just scream at me.


	30. Chapter 30

Alone in the healer's tent, except for Dala herself, Lexa listened to the jubilant shouts outside. The camp was in celebration. After her victory she wanted to find Clarke. But the sky-girl was lost in the excited crowd, and Lexa herself was swept off by her supporters, until they were ordered by Dala to leave so she could see to her wounds – only scratches and bruises, Lexa protested, but Dala was insistent, especially about the cut on her arm, which admittedly stung and still bleeding. So now she sat in Dala’s tent, her armour and tunic removed, leaving only a sleeveless top so that Dala could inspect her injuries. Above her heart, peeking out form the neck of her top, was the pointed tip of her newest tattoo. 

A flash of sunlight as the door opened. Lexa tensed and spun around. It was Clarke, blue eyes bright, cheeks pink and hair windswept, no doubt from running. The door swung shut behind her, but Clarke brought the sun with her. Her very presence lit up the shaded tent.

Lexa rushed to her, caught her as she threw her arms around Lexa’s neck. Clarke’s exhilarated laughter was the sweetest sound she had ever heard. Lexa was triumphant, powerful. She felt like she could lift up the whole world. And she did. She picked up Clarke – her earth and her sun and all the stars in her sky – and spun her around.  She put her down but they were both still among the stars, in a universe inhabited by them alone. Clarke didn’t relinquish her hold, her nose buried in the crook of Lexa’s neck, pressing a kiss to the skin there. “You did it,” she whispered, her voice shaking from excitement, like she was doing all she could to hold it back from a scream. “You won." 

“I made you a promise,” Lexa replied, framing Clarke’s face in her hands. “One I have no intention of breaking.” The echo of her earlier words made Clarke laugh, giddy with relief. Lexa had never heard Clarke laugh so much before, with such pure, uninhibited joy. She found that she liked it, wanted to spend her life making Clarke laugh. She stroked Clarke’s cheek, taking in the light that shone from her eyes, her hair, from the pores of her skin almost, for she was so happy. She was like the sun, Lexa thought, every fibre of her being singing in ecstatic adoration for the woman she held in her arms. Bringer of light and warmth. Giver of life. 

Clarke slipped a hand to the nape of Lexa’s neck and they kissed, soundly and solidly, like the planets falling into orbit. The lips on hers, the tongue slipping into her mouth, the hands on her neck and shoulders, the jaw under her palm and the shell of an ear along her finger, the soft hair that brushed her skin, the waist that arched into her torso – these points were the centre of Lexa’s gravity. Clarke was the sun and Lexa was pulled towards her, maybe even before she knew it. 

“I told you I’d fight for you,” she said breathlessly, victory and elation still running through her veins. She felt alive. Illuminated by the golden girl whose arms she was in, life was beautiful. Life was worth living, not just surviving.

“And you did. I knew you would but…” A crease appeared between Clarke’s eyebrows, lips tugging down. She traced the fingermarks that were turning blue around Lexa’s throat. “I was so scared…” she murmured, almost like she was admitting it to herself. “For a minute I thought –“ 

“Hey.” Lexa took Clarke’s chin in her hand and forced her gaze away from the bruise and to her face. “Clarke. I’m here.” A dampening blue gaze met a steady green one. “I’m alive." 

Clarke nodded, but her eyes still darted over Lexa’s face, taking in the fresh bruises and cuts, the black blood – hers and her opponent’s – sprayed across her face, mixing with charcoal. Noted the dried blood over her split lip, the crescent-moon bruise around the outer edge of her right eye and brow. “I –“ She swallowed. “Let me clean that up.” She drew back, unwrapping her arms from around Lexa’s body with reluctance. “Dala?” She met the eyes of the amused healer sheepishly. “Can I?” She gestured at the bowl of water and the clean rag next to it.

“By all means,” Dala replied, brown eyes sparkling. Lexa turned around and returned to her chair, a little embarrassed. But Dala was used to emotional reactions from her patients and their loved ones, and after all, despite her title and her blood, the Commander was human, too. Healers of all people should know that best. 

Clarke bent in front of Lexa, armed with water and damp rag. It brought back to Lexa the memory of last night, when Clarke washed off her warpaint. Now, the rag was stained black every time Clarke drew it over Lexa’s skin – from charcoal, from blood. There was something ritualistic about the act, something shared between the two of them. It was soothing. Cleansing. Washing off the evidence of violence and war. She, the warrior, coming home to Clarke to be healed, for the wounds of her body and her mind to be put to rest.

Meanwhile, Dala dressed the cut on her arm, and when Clarke put aside the water, now blood-black, applied a salve to the cuts on her face. It stung a little and she couldn’t help but grimace. After that, she pulled her tunic and armour back on, drawing her injured arm carefully through the sleeve so as not to earn the remonstrance of her two healers.

“So,” Clarke said with deliberate lightness as she helped Dala put away her things. “Skaikru is having a party tonight to celebrate your victory.” Pride crept into her voice there. “And I know you’ll probably want to celebrate with your people here, but…” She looked up shyly, stray strands of hair falling into her eyes. “Will you come with me to Arkadia? At least for a little bit? I mean,” she rambled on, "we can leave when you want but I told my mom about us and I think it’d be great if –” 

“I’d love to.” Lexa cut her off with a fond smile. Adored how her blue eyes lit up. "Of course,” she added, “I need to go around all the camps but I can do that quickly. After that, we can spend as much time with Skaikru as you want.” 

Clarke’s grateful smile was thanks enough. Lexa’s own lips upturned, uninhibited, purely joyful at Clarke’s happiness. It made her seem no more than a young girl, years younger and miles away from the fearsome Commander who had all the Clans at her feet. 

She was half-girl, half-Commander when she said, matter-of-fact in her clear voice, “I’m going to make a speech. I want to announce that I’ve chosen you as my Flamekeeper. We’ll have the ceremony."

“Now?” 

She nodded. “There’s no better time. Our reign starts now.” She extended her hand to Clarke. “Ready, Flamekeeper?” 

Clarke blinked, surprised at the new title, but she placed her hand in Lexa’s. “ _Otaim, Heda._ ”

* * *

The warriors and ambassadors representing the thirteen clans gathered in front of their Commander. She was regal with her sweeping coat, her red sash tumbling from her shoulder. At once warlord and queen, earth and steel. 

The golden girl from the sky dropped to her knees before her. She cut her palm with a dagger, blood dripping red onto the green grass at the Commander’s boots. “I swear a fealty to you, Lexa kom Trikru, Commander of the thirteen clans. I pledge my life and my loyalty to your blood and your Spirit. I will guard the Flame with my life, and keep it alive till it passes from Commander to Nightblood. None shall part me from my duty, but my death or my Commander’s wish.” 

Lexa cut her palm and black blood welled from the wound. She extended her hand to Clarke, who clasped it against her own palm, bleeding red. Lexa pulled Clarke to her feet so that they stood face to face, and said the words to bind them: “My blood is your blood.” 

The crowd cheered, warriors from all the Clans, but none louder than Raven's whoop or Kylos’s cheer of Clarke’s name, and none was brighter than Abby beaming proudly. Clarke turned, hand still clasped with Lexa’s, to face her people, _their_ people. The earth and the sky, joined as one. Wherever they went, they would sow peace behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Otaim" – always
> 
> This chapter turned out super long so I split it into two. There will be two more chapters after this, I'll try to get them up by the end of December. In the meantime, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. 
> 
> I loved all your comments for last chapter, I'm glad you enjoyed the fight scene! Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this short little chapter.


	31. Chapter 31

Following Lexa’s victory, the rest of the afternoon was spent cleaning up the mess left in the wake of Ontari’s coup. The Flamekeeper ceremony was completed by the tattoo of the infinity symbol on the back of her wrist, marking that her hands were chosen to carry the Flame from Commander to Nightblood.

The Broadleaf Clan was absent from the ceremony, having chosen to leave the coalition rather than bear the shame of their failed rebellion. They would be treated as rogue clans, and no longer protected by the treaties under the Coalition.

Almost immediately after, Roan requested an audience with Lexa. He came before the throne where she reclined. For the first time Clarke stood at her side as Flamekeeper. 

“I am King of Azgeda. You’ve killed Ontari and proven to her followers you are the true Commander. Let me punish my people as I see fit.” 

“ _You_ punish them?” Lexa questioned, raising an eyebrow. "For crimes against me and the Coalition?” 

“They drove me out!” Roan’s hoarse voice shook under the surface with suppressed emotion. 

Lexa considered this a moment. “Even if I wanted to, Trikru wouldn’t stand for it. Your people sacked and burned their villages. The dead demand justice, as is their right." 

Roan gave a harsh bark of laughter. “If I let you punish my people in my stead, how long do you think I can keep my throne? And how long would the next Ice King or Queen wait to rise against you?” 

Something flashed across Lexa’s eyes, sharp and dangerous as lightning. She leaned forward a little. “No one _lets_ me do anything, Roan. You’ll do well to remember that.” She sat back, cool and dispassionate once more. “I’ll punish a dozen of Ontari’s loudest supporters, and those who attacked Trikru’s villages will be given into the hands of those they wronged. As for the rest, I trust you will punish them as you see fit." 

Roan’s mouth opened to argue. But he closed it, realizing that it was pointless to negotiate any more. His bow was stiff. “Very well. Thank you, _Heda._ ” 

True to her word, that afternoon Lexa executed the staunchest and most vocal of Ontari’s supporters, from the Ice Nation. Another dozen were sent to Polis to work as slaves for a varying number of years, to erase their betrayal through servitude. Finally, those who attacked the Trikru villages were handed over to those whose homes they burned and whose loved ones they killed. The Forest Clan took them with vicious glee. 

The executed and enslaved bore the crimes of treason for their Clans, and Lexa publicly accepted the rebel Azgeda, once again under King Roan’s rule, back into the Coalition. “If anyone makes another attempt at rebellion,” she warned, “they will find that I will not be merciful again.” 

Fortunately, the evening was spent more enjoyably than the day. All the camps had celebrations that night in Lexa’s honour. As Commander, she had to visit every one of them, especially after the rebellion, to show that she accepted them all back into her Coalition. Clarke was at her side as the newly appointed Flamekeeper.

They started in the Trikru and Polis camp. The Forest Clan was proud of their black-blooded daughter, and cheered Clarke’s name almost as loudly. Sharing a border with Skaikru, they seemed to have come to terms with the clan that fell from the sky. Besides, if _Heda_ trusted a _Skaiyon_ enough to make her _Fleimkappa,_ they could certainly make neighbors out of Skaikru _._ They showered Lexa with gifts, wrote songs glorifying her bravery, toasted her with a drink that went down Clarke’s throat like liquid gold and settled in her belly like a warm hearth. They wanted to keep Clarke and Lexa there with them all night, and it was only when Lexa promised to come back later that they were grudgingly allowed to leave. 

They found Ice Nation divided among itself. Most of the camp gave them looks as chilly as their Clan’s namesake, but one-third, Roan and his supporters, many of them young men and women, cheered for Lexa with enthusiasm and toasted her with a drink that burned like fire all the way down Clarke’s throat. It was never about believing that either Ontari or Lexa truly had the Spirit, Clarke could see that now. It was about power – Roan supported Lexa because she helped him keep his throne in Azgeda, and Ontari’s supporters wanted to put an Ice Nation Commander on the throne in Polis. Like the Broadleaf Clan, Ontari’s supporters had lost in this bid for power, and there was nothing they could do about it. 

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Lexa whispered to Clarke when they left camp. “I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few years we’ll have to take Roan’s side in an Azgeda uprising.” 

They had one more round with Trikru, as promised. Lexa was more at ease here than Clarke had ever seen her before, except in the privacy of their room. She had enough drinks in her that she forgot about discretion and wrapped an arm around Lexa’s waist, leaning against her while a storyteller told tales of the great Commanders of the past. Maybe her mind and senses were blurred enough with Trikru’s golden drink that she was dull to surprise, or simply because of how relaxed Lexa was among her people, but it felt completely right for Lexa to wrap her arm around Clarke’s shoulders and press her lips against her temple for a brief, flickering moment.

Finally, they crossed the plain to Arkadia. Their arrival in the main hall was announced by whoops and cheers, made louder by the way they echoed in the metal walls and ceiling.  Glasses of moonshine were shoved into their hands almost immediately. Clarke took a sip of her drink. The familiar burn of moonshine steadied her. Not all of Arkadia was present, but as far as Clarke was concerned, everyone important was there – her mother, Kane, Raven, Bellamy and Octavia, Lincoln, Monty, Harper… everyone she had fought for, everyone she managed to protect. Seeing their faces, safe and happy at least for now, reminded her of what everything she did since she fell from the sky was for. Jasper brooded at the edge of Clarke’s vision, sullen-cheeked and gaunt-eyed. Her guilt was like a missing rib in her side. 

“I propose a toast!” Kane’s voice boomed and the chatter quieted. “To Commander Lexa!” The crowd cheered, raising their glasses. Clarke proudly turned to the woman next to her. Lexa lifted her glass, tilting her head graciously. Kane’s voice was warm. “A true visionary. It’s an honour to call you our Commander.” They cheered and drank. “And to Clarke!” The shouts were even louder, whoops and someone bellowed her name in a deep voice.  

Abby, next to Kane, took over for him. “You were the first of us to come to Earth. You took care of everyone, from the very beginning. You didn’t ask for the responsibility of leadership, but you bore it better than any of us – better than I – could have imagined. You’ve stayed strong and brave and _good_ through all of this. And we are all so, so proud of you.” 

Clarke dipped her glass towards her mother. She mouthed “thank you, Mom,” and Abby’s smile widened, her eyes curiously glistening in the lamplight. 

Monty and Bellamy came up to them the moment the speech was over. Monty was the first to hug Clarke. His limbs and body had hardened into muscle since they fell from the sky, but he was no less gentle. “I’m so proud of you, Clarke,” Monty said in simple earnestness, and Clarke was grateful that there was at least one of them Earth had not broken. 

“Thanks.” 

“You took care of us for long enough, now go take care of the world." 

“Stop hogging her.” Raven limped up to them and elbowed him aside. “Don’t I get a hug, Princess?” 

“Raven!” The two of them hugged. They had been through so much together – love and loss and hate and forgiveness – that Clarke felt a surge of relief at the friendly touch. Maybe they could finally put everything behind them and move on. 

Raven smirk's was closer to a smile than Clarke had seen on her face for longer than she could remember. “You did pretty good. Save the world and all that.” 

“Thanks,” Clarke grinned. “But the glory’s all Lexa’s today.” She tilted her head towards the girl next to her. 

Raven gave an upward nod. “Sup, Commander.”

Clarke wished she had a camera, so she could capture Lexa’s shocked expression for posterity. It only lasted a second – Lexa recovered her composure, cocked an eyebrow and returned evenly, “Hey, Raven,” and stretched out her hand. The mechanic eyed her for a long while, lower lip slightly pouting – and then grasped her forearm in a show of grudging respect. The tension diffused and the unconscious pebble in Clarke’s chest was replaced with the lightness of relief.

Bellamy made to hug Clarke, but hesitated. He frowned, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. “I’m sorry I acted… they way I did. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I know I screwed things up.”  

“I’d say we’re even after you helped me with the whole Pike thing,” Clarke conceded.

He scratched the back of his head self-consciously. “Could you forgive me?” His eyes darted to Lexa, back to Clarke, shifting between them. “Both of you?” 

It was Lexa who answered. “You did what you thought was right for your people. Neither of us can fault you for that." 

“Come here, Blake.” Clarke hugged him tight, his arms around her were strong. Almost from the very beginning it had been the two of them who had taken on the charge of protecting everyone. Taking risks, making hard calls, and… “Take care of our people for me." 

“I will.” His brown eyes were warm when he let her go. “Don’t worry.” 

“Does this mean we’ll be seeing even less of you now?” Monty asked, pouting, puppy-like. 

Clarke laughed. “Promise I’ll visit more. I’m sure my mom will make me, anyway.” 

“Like you listen to her.”

“Shush.” She swatted at him playfully. 

“So, Flamekeeper, huh?” Raven said, crossing her arms. “Does this mean you’re going to be an actual Princess now?”

To Clarke’s surprise, it was Lexa who replied, teasing lightly, resting a hand on her hip to pull her closer. “If I had my way. But she won’t let me.” Her voice lost its playful edge and her mirthful eyes turned soft when they landed on Clarke’s face. “You deserve it." 

“Aww!” Monty gushed, grinning and Raven made gagging noises. But Lexa’s smile widened, took on a shadow of that tender, private look she only revealed when they were alone. Almost like she was in awe of Clarke.  

“I didn’t believe O when she told me,” Raven groaned. “I thought she was exaggerating. You guys are disgusting.” 

Clarke was aware of her own face growing warm, but she didn’t care enough to be embarrassed. It was warm indoors and she had been drinking, and Lexa was gorgeous when her cheeks were pink like that and the adoration was clear in her eyes. Clarke resisted the urge to kiss her in front of everyone. “Octavia told you guys?” 

“Yeah, she’s talked about almost nothing else all day.” Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Well, that and how badass you are,” he added to Lexa. 

“Octavia’s not bad herself,” she returned lightly. “She’s better than she thinks."

“Oh crap.” Realization hit Clarke. “Does my mom know?”

“Know what?” Abby appeared behind Bellamy. Kane was next to her. 

“Mom!” 

Monty mumbled something about catching up with her later. Her friends melted into the crowd, the two guys pulling Raven between them. She kept glancing back with mischief dancing in her dark eyes. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” Clarke fell into Abby’s embrace, tight and warm and safe. “Your dad would be, too. We always knew that you would do something far greater than either of us could imagine. You have done, ever since you came to Earth, and I _know_ you’ll keep doing amazing things. ” 

“Mom.” Clarke’s eyes began to mist over and she blinked hard. “Thank you.” 

“Commander.” Kane greeted Lexa with a formal grasp of the forearms.

“Chancellor,” she returned. 

“Congratulations on your victory today.” 

She accepted with a gracious dip of the head. “There was no other option, when all our lives hang in the balance,” she said. “Congratulations on your re-election. Welcome back to the Coalition." 

“And we are very honoured you would have us,” Kane answered. “I know that after recent events…" 

“Forgiven and forgotten,” Lexa finished for him, “Once Pike was delivered to me. I’m glad I can call Skaikru my people.” She exchanged a look of both understanding and remembrance with Clarke, whose smile was as bright as a cloudless summer day, eyes as blue. 

“Thank you for making one of us your Flamekeeper,” Abby added. She could recognize that it was a show of faith in the thirteenth clan – twelfth clan, now that the Broadleaf Clan had gone rogue –proof that the Commander accepted them into the coalition and discrediting any who did not recognize their legitimacy. “Clarke will rise to it, I know." 

“There’s no one better for the job,” Lexa agreed. Clarke itched to take her long-fingered hands in her own and give it a squeeze. “As I told Clarke when I made the proposition to her, there’s no one I trust more than her.” 

“You have a lot of faith in my daughter.” 

“She deserves it.” Lexa said again. Her smile was full of warmth and confidence. “She’s special." 

Clarke knew with sudden clarity what she had to do. If she didn’t do it now she never would, and the longer she kept it a secret the harder it would be to reveal it – even though it wouldn’t _technically_ be keeping it a secret, she reasoned, if her mother never asked. She took a deep drink, draining the rest of her moonshine. It was warm in her throat and chest, and it made her brave, or reckless, or just honest. “Mom, there’s something I have to tell you.” 

Abby’s eyebrows rose. “Okay.” Kane glanced between mother and daughter, and tactfully invited Lexa to meet Skaikru. Clarke wished she could hold onto her hand, say _no, stay with me,_ but Lexa acquiesced, and Chancellor and Commander excused themselves. Leaving mother and daughter alone.

“Yes?” Abby prompted. 

“Lexa and I…” her mouth was suddenly dry. She was out of words. Why did she want to do this right now? How did she get herself into this position? She felt braver standing up against Pike in front of all Arkadia, or entering Ontari’s tent, than telling her mother.

How could she say it? _We’re dating_ was cringingly inadequate.  _Lexa’s my girlfriend_ was even worse. Girlfriends were for children who played at love, who held hands in hallways and snuck out of classrooms to make out in cleaning closets. Not for them – they were more than that. Their lives were far too intertwined, both in the past and in the future, for that childish label. Not for the Earth itself and the star that fell into her arms. “I love her.” 

Abby’s eyes widened. Her lips flickered, a smile threatening to form but she held it at bay. “Does she know?” 

Clarke’s smile was almost like Lexa’s – small and private, but intensely deep. “She loved me first.” 

“Oh, baby.” Abby hugged Clarke tight against her. “I’m so happy for you.” She pulled back, cupping her daughter’s cheek in one hand. “I’ve always worried, you know. You take on so much, you try to take care of everyone. Sometimes you forget you deserve to be taken care of, too.” She paused, studied Clarke’s face, reconciled it with the Clarkes of memory – the pigtailed toddler riding on Jake’s shoulders, the gangly-limbed kid, the cursing teenager thrown into prison, the frightened girl who she held for what she thought to be one last time before sending her to the ground. The young woman in front of her now was all those Clarkes, and someone else altogether. She was the teenager’s determination, the toddler’s courage, a warrior’s strength and a leader’s confidence. She was all those things, and more than that. 

Abby thought she knew the answer, but she asked anyway. "Are you happy in Polis?”

The question caught Clarke off guard. Since when had _happiness_ been part of the equation? Ever since they crash-landed on a hostile Earth, it was about survival, about staying alive one day to the next, about staying one step ahead of death. About war and how to fight it, how to end it. About enemies and allies, about taking risks and keeping the people you loved safe. She couldn’t afford to think about happiness.

But maybe this was a new world, a new dawn, where they could afford to think of such things. They had peace, and they had tomorrow, a hundred tomorrows. Now, life was about more than just surviving. It was about what made her happy. 

She sought out Lexa across the room, talking with Kane and Marlow, a captain of Arkadia’s guard. Lexa looked up a second later and their gazes met through the space that separated them. Eyes softened, lips turned up in gentle curves. Tanned skin and braids and leather, eyes green as the Earth itself. Dangerous, yes, but also fruitful and beautiful and protective and _home._

“Yeah,” Clarke answered. "I am.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!! I meant to update before 2018 but life gets busy around the holidays.
> 
> I'm iffy about this chapter, but there are loose ends that need to be tied up and I suppose that the best way to do it is to lump them all in one long chapter. I hope you liked it, especially the bit at the end with Skaikru.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think. I love reading your thoughts on this fic! There's one more chapter after this.


	32. Chapter 32

They arrived at Polis in the last hour of the afternoon. The sun low in the sky, its rays slanting over the treetops and the capital city. The Commander and Flamekeeper rode side by side at the head of the party. The same army that had charged out of Polis in the grey pre-dawn with war-cries and thundering of hooves, now returned at an unhurried pace. The bright afternoon broken by the murmur of voices, laughs, and every so often the chorus of a victory song that was sung around a fire in last night’s celebrations.  

They had hardly entered the gates when the Nightbloods came running to meet them. Little Lila threw her arms around Lexa’s waist, Nix put on her best aloof face when she grasped Lexa’s forearm, but a huge smile broke onto her face when she pulled Lexa into a hug. Aden didn’t bother with a formal greeting, but wrenched Lexa into an embrace, pulling Clarke in too with his free arm around her neck. “I’m glad I don’t have to be _Heda_ just yet,” he said with a grin as he released both of them. “I’m not ready." 

“Don’t worry,” Lexa answered, trying unsuccessfully to untangle Lila from her legs and settling for picking up her up. The youngest Nightblood wrapped her arms around Lexa’s neck, as though staking her claim, and refused to let anyone remove her from her spot on Lexa's hip. “My spirit will stay right where it is for a while yet.” She exchanged a secret smile with Clarke. 

“Good, because Aden was getting bossy,” Nix said. 

“Was not!” Aden shoved her playfully, and the girl giggled and pushed him back. Lexa laughed, remembering with a bittersweet pang her own Nightblood days, how she used to jostle and banter with her blood brothers and sisters, yet unaware of just how heavy a burden they were born with. She would do all in her power to let her Nightbloods remain children for a little longer. 

Clem came up to them next. She gripped Lexa’s forearm first and then Clarke’s. “It’s good to see you back safely, _Heda._ ” Though she was composed, the words were diffused with warmth, and the corners of her almond eyes creased. 

“We didn’t know you’d returned already,” Lexa replied. 

“I just arrived this morning." 

“Your help won’t be forgotten,” Lexa said with gratitude. 

“Help that was not needed.” Clem’s smile was wry.

“But the day will come that it will be.”

“And you’ll have it,” Clem promised. She turned to Clarke. “Congratulations. I told _Heda_ she made an excellent choice for her _Flaimkappa._ " 

“Thank you,” Clarke replied, touched by the magnitude of the praise coming from one of Lexa’s most trusted generals. “I’m still new to your culture, so I hope that, at least in the beginning, you can mentor me."

Clem glanced at Lexa. “With the Commander’s approval.” 

Lexa dipped her head, and Clarke said, “It was her suggestion.” 

“It would be my honour." 

They walked through the streets of Polis towards the tower, gaggle of Nightbloods in tow. Lexa dipped her head at shopkeepers and passers-by, greeted blacksmiths and warriors, visibly relaxing as they neared the heart of her city. She bought honeyed biscuits for the Nightbloods and laughed when Aden and Nix fought over the last one. Her first two Nightbloods bickered like brother and sister. At her side, Clarke held Gideon’s hand, listening to the little Nightblood talk about what he did all day, how he climbed a tree, how he beat Mia in training this morning, how they snuck up on Aden and scared him afterwards. A secret smile touched Lexa’s lips. She was home. 

* * *

The sunset never failed to mesmerize Clarke. She had lived seventeen years watching the sun rise and set on Earth, without ever seeing a sunset. It was all the more spectacular from Lexa’s window. From the vantage point she could see the play of colour across the canvas of the hills, liquid fire running down a bare cliff, each roof of the city turned to fine-spun gold, the long-since toppled columns outside the city dimly glorious for one short-lived moment before the sun sank a fraction lower and their glamour was once again eclipsed by the shadow that the forest cast.

A pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Pushed back damp blonde hair. A chin rested on her shoulder. Lexa smelled like their bath, like the little yellow flowers the soap was made from, whose name Clarke didn’t know and Lexa could only tell her in Trigedasleng. They stood without speaking. Simply breathing. The sun sank below the horizon, leaving in its wake watercolour streaks of orange and crimson and gold. 

Darkness came, creeping, on the edges of the sky. Even though she didn’t want to let a single second of the sunset slip past her awareness, the dusk still caught her off-guard. Before she knew it had taken over the whole sky, except for the band of light that outlined the western hills, so bright that all the brilliant colours must have converged into it.

The band grew dimmer and dimmer, fading into ochre, then ash, and finally overtaken by purple dusk. Only then did Clarke turn around. Lexa’s face was fresh from bathing, cleaned of all remaining traces of the warpaint she wore so often over the last few days that it had almost become part of her skin. Her hair, curling with dampness, fell over a shoulder, exposed by the thin black gown. She had added another band to the tattoo around her arm.  A new burden of leadership, a new reminder to her future self.

Clarke rested her arms loosely around Lexa’s neck. She glanced over the new scratches on Lexa’s face, the split lip, the purpling bruise around her throat. She stroked the back of Lexa’s neck. The infinity symbol on her hand a twin of the one it traced. Felt the raised scar, under which lay the foremost of her new duties. It was peacetime now, and Lexa had just returned from another duel with Death, yet Clarke’s thought still wandered down that morbid path. She gave a little laugh – maybe she understood now why Lexa talked of her death so much. 

“What?” Lexa’s brow creased, confused. 

“Nothing.” Clarke stilled her laughter into a smile. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Lexa’s forehead relaxed. The crease there was replaced by that at the corners of her green eyes, soft with adoration. “Me too. I have too much to live for.”

Clarke used to think that the highest form of love was to die for someone. What a fool she was. Didn’t it take far more courage to live? To live, and to love. 

Clarke pressed her palm against the newly inked image on Lexa’s chest. A tree with branches that curved outwards and back in to meet at its topmost point, which touched the bottom tip of a four-pointed star. They belonged to each other. Bound by ink under skin, by spoken vows and sworn fealties, by the red blood in her veins and the black blood in Lexa’s. Their lives collided in fire and war and intertwined like growing vines, flourishing together. 

Lexa’s fingers closed over Clarke’s and brought their joined hands to rest over the matching tree and star tattooed on Clarke’s heart. There were no words to capture the sentiment, the understanding, that passed between them, conveyed by the touching of eyes and a slight smile. 

This, right now, was their _maybe, someday._

How could she possibly have known, that day when Clarke marched into her tent with the sky in her eyes and defiance in her bones, that it was the beginning? At that moment both their worlds tilted past a tipping point, their centres of gravity changed, and nothing but Death could stop the _them_ that was inevitable as moonrise and sunset. 

When the sun rose in the morning, it would be a new age. One they would build together. The long winter and uneasy spring were coming to an end. Summer was on the edge of the horizon.

The glow in Lexa’s eyes narrowed into a spark of mischief. “You know,” she drawled, “the group from Skaikru isn’t going to arrive for another week. Which means we don’t have anything we need to do before then." 

“Oh?” Clarke returned coyly. Suspected where this was going. 

“Do you want to get away? Just the two of us. We can go to a lake in the South. We’ll swim in the day and at night we’ll lie under the stars.” 

“Sounds fantastic.” Clarke pressed a sound kiss to Lexa’s lips. 

She pulled back before Lexa knew it. She looked down at sparkling blue eyes, at curved lips, at the beauty mark sitting above them like a lone star. She breathed deeply, in and out, her lungs filling with air and expanding, collapsing, oxygen floating like pearls down the stream of her veins. They had all the time in the world. 

In the fraction of a second it took for Lexa’s eyes to close, she saw Clarke’s flutter shut and golden lashes catch the candlelight, saw parted pink lips nearing her own. Then Clarke kissed her. The slowness deliberate. At once painful and pleasurable. Lips, tongue, a tilt of the head, a sigh, from who Lexa didn’t know and it mattered less still. Clarke’s hand at the nape of her neck, at once feather-light and firmly assertive. Lexa cupped her face. Committed to memory the softness of Clarke’s skin under her fingertips, the exact angle of her jaw, the way she moved her lips, the way she tasted. Like wine and flowers and starshine. 

Time was a newfound luxury. They never had enough of it before. Touches stolen between battles and war councils, kisses at once a hello and a goodbye. Every drop of pleasure chasing away the stress that would return after the fleeting respites. Now, when they had all the time they wanted, time seemed to draw out. Like the lazy drift of a crisp red leaf from topmost canopy to trodden forest floor. Like the elusive glimmer of distant stars on the clear night. Like the indulgent stretch of a white cat upon waking, eyes screwed tight, claws extending, pink tongue curling in a yawn. 

There was time for languid kisses, kissing for the sake of lips on each other’s and no other purpose. Time for twisting the sleeve of Clarke’s nightgown, time for tracing the ridge of Lexa’s collarbone. Time for running a hand down Clarke’s side, for admiring her silhouette, for laying a hand on the small of her back to hold her closer. Time for stepping in sync, for sinking onto the couch, first her lower back and then her shoulders. Time for pulling Clarke on top of her, still doing no more than kissing, time for fingers tangling in her hair. Time for Clarke’s hands to wander, time for innocent touches, exploratory, like satellites released into the cosmos. Time for all that, and none for breathing. 

The string of kisses snapped. Clarke sat up, pushed her hair back with one hand. She wore a grin on her face, lazy and triumphant and untamed all at once. She straddled Lexa, nightgown hitched to her hips. Lexa’s core pooled with heat. She was aware of how she looked – hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with desire. The Commander, helpless under the most spectacular of woman, the only one she would kneel before. 

“Commander of the coalition.” Clarke’s voice dropped to a purr as she leaned down, draping the length of her body along Lexa’s. “Mighty _Heda._ ” She held herself up on her elbows. Her face a kiss away – “My Lexa.” – and she closed it with her lips.

Without breaking the kiss Lexa flipped them, so that Clarke lay on her back. Clarke blinked up at her and opened her mouth to speak. But the only sound she made was a sigh as Lexa’s lips fixed to her pulse point. She planted a special kiss to the tree and star that rose and fell with Clarke’s breaths. Lexa’s touch was reverent, her lips paid homage. Clarke’s responses – a catch in her breath, a shift of her hips, an involuntary groan – encouraged her to go lower, travel down Clarke’s body, lingering everywhere. The nightgown was bunched up by her waist now, exposing her naval, her soft stomach, and – 

The scar of a bullet wound. 

Lexa froze. She looked up, met the sky-blue gaze of the girl she loved, the girl she almost lost. Once by her own betrayal, another by something as unpredictable as a stray piece of metal. She traced the jagged edges with her fingertips, tenderly as though a rough touch would elicit pain. “You’re so lucky, Clarke,” she breathed. 

“Yeah.” But Clarke wasn’t looking at the scar, the souvenir of her fortunate escape from Death. She was looking at Lexa, eyes softer and shinier more than normal. Looking at her like she was her world, like she was the Earth itself. “Yeah. I am.” 

Much later that night, when the stars glittered high in the sky and all was quiet, the Commander and Flamekeeper could be found in their bed. Clothing discarded on the floor around the couch, legs tangled together so that it was indistinguishable which belonged to who. Clarke nestled in the curve of Lexa’s body, arms secure around her waist, their fingers locked together above the scar on Clarke’s stomach. Lexa’s nose brushed the nape of Clarke’s neck, breathing in the smell of her skin.

Their embrace was intimate, tender. But it was powerful, too. Because they knew in their very bones that love made them strong. That united they could do anything – stop wars, bring peace to their people, and for the first time, live. 

They both knew that peace time wouldn't last. But for now, there was peace, and there was time, and there was them. And that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been two years since we lost Lexa. Two years since I started writing this fic, determined to craft a version of events where Lexa's story doesn't meet an abrupt and unfair end. But Lexa isn't lost to us – because she's a fictional character, she can never be killed, as long as we keep her alive in stories and in art. She lives as long as we want her to. When I think of Lexa, I don't think of her as dead, but of where we are leaving her now – at Clarke's side, breathing and loving and living.
> 
> So that's it, folks. I have a drabble set in the same 'verse as this fic, which I'll upload soon (if I remember), so keep an eye out for that. Other than that - this is it. The end of the line. I hope you enjoyed this journey as much as I did, and that it gave you the same kind of closure it gave me. I went through huge changes in my life while writing this fic. Thank you for sticking with me through everything, you guys are the best readers ever.
> 
> May we meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to shout about Clexa and other related and/or unrelated fandoms, come find me at katebishopofearth.tumblr.com


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